A Song Without Words
by Well.EveryOtherPenNameIsTaken
Summary: This is the story of a girl who fell in love with music of the night. Or was it a boy who played it?
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Mis. Nor its characters. Nor Aaron Tveit. Eh.**_

**A/N: I have to thank all those wonderful people who encouraged me to start writing again, especially **_**AnneMarie24601.**_** THANK YOU for all the help, encouragement and proof reading! Also, **_**wordaddiction**_**, thank you so much for believing in me from the very beginning! Really guys, you're the best!**

**P.S. A piece played by Enjolras is Chopin's**_** Nocturne in E flat Major, **_**but the title is inspired by Mendelssohn and his **_**Songs Without Words**__**:)**_

* * *

_1. A Song Without Words_

* * *

It was raining heavily when she first heard it.

Music.

It warmed up her soaked body and soul, notes wrapping around her like a warm breeze. When she shivered, it was not because of the rain…

And there he was. A vision of an angel bent over the piano, fingers flying over the keys with a fierce passion radiating from his whole body. She locked her eyes on his face, absorbing every little detail of it…the way his eyes closed in delight at the sound his fingers produced, the faint smile that lay on his lips, softening his face, the masterpiece marble statue…And suddenly, the magic was gone and the world started turning again.

But the feeling stayed. A trembling feeling she felt while drowning in his deep blue eyes, and a melody that healed her heart, broken so many times.

* * *

_Two months later_

She was always there, sitting in the corner behind Marius. They became friends after he asked her to deliver some letters to his beloved one. At first, no one noticed her shadowy presence, but as the time went by, the Les Amis had grown fond of her. They named her Marius' Shadow, or simply, Shadow. And they thought she is a boy.

Well, they should not be blamed for that. She was indeed dressed as one, with her long hair captured beneath a cap, oversized like the rest of her clothes, and her face always messy, hiding her beauty from the eyes of the world. Even her voice was husky and dark. It was safer to be a boy in these times… and she could be closer to him. Yeah, maybe, if she was dressed up like a girl, you would think that the boy she has interested in was Marius, everyone would. And they would all be wrong.

The subject of her affection was standing on a table, blond curls falling in his eyes as he talked about freedom and equality. Words rolling from his lips like pearls, compelling every person in the room, making them stare in awe and waking a revolution inside of their hearts.

'We shall build our barricade in the heart of the city we claim as our own! Our Patria needs us! Can you hear its cries? Are you ready to fight for your beliefs and hopes? Are you ready to die so your dreams will live?'

In an instant, café Musain was filled with shouts of approval, and Enjolras jumped from the table he was standing on. The formal part of the meeting ended, so he joined his friends for a drink. Well, at least technically. His version of 'joining for a drink' was to read a book near the window where Grantaire was, just to make sure the drunkard wouldn't fall through.

'Great speech, Marble, great speech', Grantaire mumbles, half asleep with a bottle filled with transparent liquid in his hand.

'Of course it was. Especially since you have no idea what was it about', Enjolras replied, glaring at the man and ignoring the nickname.

'Ha! I knew you would say that! That's why I asked Shadow to tell me everything about it', Grantaire looked so proud of himself that Enjolras almost felt sorry for ruining his moment of joy. Almost.

'And while you were listening to him, he managed to change your bottle of wine with a bottle of water. Again', Enjolras smirked at the man, thanking Shadow in his head. That boy was still the only one that could deceive Grantaire and stop him from drinking.

'Arrrrrgh, not again! How the hell does he do that?!'

'Maybe you should consider running away, Shady, Grant looks rather angry', Combeferre chuckled. 'Why, it's not like he's able to run after me', Eponine smirked, and everyone at the café burst into laughter.

'Oh you little…', Grantaire gritted his teeth at Eponine. But she wasn't looking at him. Enjolras also smiled, and although it disappeared almost immediately, he seemed to relax a little. Her job here was done.

She wasn't the only one to notice a smile dancing in the corner of his lips. 'This little guy is amazing', Courfeyrac whispered to Joly. 'Look, Enjolras actually smiled!'

'Well, I'm off, y'know, running for my life', Eponine winked at Grantaire, stole one last glance of Enjolras and ran out of the café, humming the same melody she heard two months ago.

Her song without words.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thankyouthankyouthankyou all so much for reading/favoriting/following, it made me so happy that I could hardly stop smiling for a whole day! :D Also, sorry if this chapter starts like a complete **_**cliché, **_**but it was the only way for me to realize the idea that was stuck in my head!**

* * *

2. _Feelings, Feelings_

* * *

Eponine was walking down the street, humming as always, when she saw him. She knew for sure that he will recognize her in an instant.

'Damn', she cursed, desperately trying to blend with the mass of people surrounding her, when a man pulled her in a dark alley, far from noises of the street. No one noticed, no one cared. Then again, why would they?

'Parnasse, you should really stop doing that, y'know, it's not so hard to just call me by my name', Eponine snarled at the tall man who held her wrist in a firm grip. Pain flickered in her eyes.

'My, my, what have we got here? I almost didn't recognise you 'Ponine. And it has to be that you didn't recognise me either, why else would you try to run away from me?', he whispered into her ear, causing her to shudder.

'If you try something, I swear, I will scream', she threatened.

Montparnasse laughed at her. 'And who would come to your rescue? Who would even noticed that you're gone?'

'That would be me', she heard a familiar voice saying. A sparkle of hope appeared in her chest, growing stronger as she saw a silhouette of a tall, blonde man approaching.

'So you have caught yourself a bourgeois, that's why you're avoiding your old friend. Well, we can't let that happen, now, can we? After all, you belong to me', Montparnasse hissed.

'Let. Him. Go.', Enjolras said, emphasizing every word.

Montparnasse stared at the young man, looking utterly confused. 'Don't tell me he doesn't know!', he asked, but she didn't reply. Fear was written all over her face. 'Please 'Parnasse, please, don't!'

Montparnasse laughed loudly, 'You don't want me to tell him? Very well. Then I'll show him!' With these words, he slapped her hard, and a cap flew from her head, revealing dense brown curls. Enjolras gasped in shock, but soon returned his composure. His eyes were searching the dark alley, but Montparnasse was already gone. He kneeled besides her, examining a red spot that blossomed on her cheek.

'Are you alright?', he asked her worriedly. She felt hot tears streaming down her face. When did she start crying?

'I am so sorry. I meant to tell you, I really did', she whispered, a sharp pain piercing her heart.

'Shh, it doesn't matter', he said, gently removing a strand of hair from her face.

'Enjolras...'

'I lo...'

* * *

'...ve you'

'No, Shady, please, don't go to the dark side, not you too!', Combeferre pleaded, while trying to wake her up. 'We've had quite enough of that lovey-dovey fluff after Marius fell in love!'

Startled, Eponine jumped from a chair she's been sleeping on. 'Damn, I fell asleep!', she thought. Yesterday, she returned home just to see that her father's gang is gathered in their house, drinking, yelling and gambling. Of course, Montparnasse was also there, giving her a hard time, so it's not like she was able to get much sleep.

'I can't get rid of him even in my dreams', she frustratedly sighed.

'I must say I'm quite interested in this matter', Joly said, interrupting Combeferre's cries of despair. 'So Shady, tell us, who's the lucky lady that rules within your heart and dreams?'

'Umm, well...it's...umm...'

'Remember this day, my friends! Shadow actually has nothing witty to say!', Grantaire smirked at her direction, swinging the bottle through the air and almost knocking Enjolras down. 'This is a miracle that only one thing can surpass, and that is a speechless Enjolras! Not that it's going to happen, though, except if his beloved Patria explicitly tells him to shut up in one of his books. But we're not that lucky.' Even Eponine had to laugh at that statement.

Enjolras sent him a death glare that would scare the hell out of anyone. But Grantaire was too drunk to notice.

Well, at least they didn't hear the name she whispered in her sleep. Secretly, she hoped that they will soon forget about her supposed 'lady love'.

Of course, they did not. Grantaire made sure of it.


	3. Chapter 3

_3. Blurred Vision_

* * *

'Wake up you litlle...who do you think you are, sleeping that much?!'

For the second time in the last two days, Eponine was forced to wake up. Not that it mattered much, though, she was used to it. But still, it would be a nice change to get enough sleep at least once in her life. Probably not going to happen, but one can always hope, right?

'C'mon, what are you waiting for?! Y'know your father, he'll be furious if you don't get to work!', her mother screamed. 'We don't have enough money to buy food, and your laziness is _not_ helping!'

Of course they don't have enough money. Same old, same old. Maybe if father would drink less, and worked more, we wouldn't be in this mess, and I would get to sleep peacefully. But did it _ever_ cross their minds? 'Oh my, why would we concern ourselves with such a trivial matter when we have a cute little daughter who will pickpocket for us?'

Y'know what, go to hell.

I'm sick and tired of it, and I'm sick and tired of you.

But the only thing Eponine decided to do was to put on her usual clothes and get to work. Fighting was meaningless in a Thenardier family, and she learned that the hard way.

'C'mon, get out of here, chip chop!'

She hates her life.

* * *

Streets were more crowded than usual, so it was a lot easier to pickpocket. Eponine quickly scanned every person, trying to find a perfect victim. It scared her, that ability of turning her morality off. She was terrified that it will consume her until she's emotionless and numb, until she's a real cold-blooded Thenardier. But what has to be done, has to be done. Or she will suffer a great consequences. Damn Ep, snap out of it! Concentrate!

_Tall. Slim. Worn out jacket. Stained shirt. A student. Nothing here._

_Highly polished dressed. False gold buttons. Trying to look impressive. Nothing here. _

_Extremely fat. Latest fashion clothing. Ruby ring. _

_And we have a winner._

She started to run towards the person and crashed right into him. Though it felt more like she crashed into a giant jellyfish rather than a human being. Not important, his wallet was already stuffed in her pockets. She murmured a quick apology to the jellyfish man and proceeded to the next victim, a young lady in expensive frilly dress.

She was stopped by a firm hand on her shoulder. Eponine turned around, and ended up looking straight into a police officer's face. _Merde!_

* * *

The cell was dark and dirty, without any furniture. It seemed so cold and unwelcoming...If it wasn't for prison bars, she would probably say 'Mom, dad, I'm home'.

'Well, this was bound to happen once. Maybe I'll finally be able to get some sleep.' A rat ran over her bare feet.

'Then again, maybe not.'

For the first time in her life, she felt utterly and completely alone.

Days passed, and the only thing that kept Eponine alive was a picture of that night from two months ago. Over and over, she imagined his fingers rushing through a field of black and white keys. In her dreams, he would play continuously, faster and faster, until the walls around her crash to pieces, freeing her prisoned body, but captivating her heart.

Day and night, night and day, she would continue to sing the same melody, deliriously hanging to that one last strand of salvation that kept her from going insane.

* * *

Grantaire was just trying to get properly drunk when he saw someone suspiciously familiar being dragged to the police station. Damn him and his fuzzy mind, who was that?! Something was telling him that he has to find out, but at that moment his mind floated in a great amount of wine, and he just couldn't make himself to _think_.

_Think, he has to...think._

Well, maybe after another bottle.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: I do not own...wait for it...**_

* * *

4. _Friends Will Be Friends_

* * *

Quite a few days passed before Grantaire finally sobers up enough to recall an unfortunate event that he had seen. And then, while he was lying in a pile of trash after something he likes to call '_Drink 'till you sink_' night, a sudden realisation struck him.

'Holy bottle of wine, _that was Shady!_'

He ran...

He walked...

Alright, so, he crawled back to café Musain, shouting and cursing like a sailor, but everyone just naturally assumed that he had a bad night. Not enough wine, maybe? Only Enjolras was cautious enough to politely ask him to 'shut the hell up because he wants to read'.

'I can't shut up, I screwed things up really badly!', he was on the verge of tears. And suddenly, every pair of eyes in the room was locked on him. When Grantaire admits that he has done something bad, you know it must be even worse of what he says.

'Care to explain what happened?', Enjolras asked him bitterly, not really caring about the answer, but hoping it will at least stop the latter from shouting. Enjolras really hates shouting.

'Shady, it's about Shady, I've seen him a few days ago...'

'Oh you did? Good, I was getting worried about the boy, haven't seen him in a while. Is he all right?' Courfeyrac interrupted.

Grantaire's face was paler than a wall behind him.

'He's in prison. I've seen him dragged by a police officer.'

'What?! And you didn't help him?!'

'I was drunk...'

'Now that's a new one!', Joly hissed.

'...and I wasn't sure who it was, I only realised it today!', Grantaire cried.

'We have to do something, he's our friend! We can't just leave him there, he's just a boy!', Combeferre pleaded, looking straight into Enjolras' eyes. He sighed.

'Of course we won't, he is a part of Les Amis. And we do not leave members of our group behind.', he answered calmly, while writing something.

'Can you get him out?', Feuilly asked worriedly.

'I cannot. But I do know someone who might.' The silence was almost palpable, Enjolras' scrabbling was the only sound in a crowded room.

'Here, all done. Marius, go and deliver this letter to Monsieur Javert as fast as you can. We cannot afford to lose any more time.'

'Wait, why me? I'm supposed to meet with Cosette after the meeting!', he complained.

Enjolras' eyes were like piercing knives. '_Because,_ Shadow is your friend too. And you are the one who constantly asks him to deliver these cheesy letters to that Colette...'

'It's Cosette'

'_Do I look like I care_?! You made him deliver it even when he had a fever, you blind, obnoxious man! And now it's too much for you to go and deliver the letter that will save the boy from prison?! You disgust me.'

The whole room fell into silence. This has never happened before, it's not like Enjolras to just lose his composure like that. Grantaire was the first one to break the silence.

'Cool down Marble, you're scaring us', he grinned.

Another death glare, now directed to Grantaire, who suddenly looked a lot smaller than he really is.

'And _you_, don't even get me started on _you_!', he said in a venomous voice. 'Marius, for God's sake, _why are you still here_?!'

And with that, Marius ran out of café Musain like he's being chased by ghosts.

* * *

Marius was waking down the road, still too shocked to acknowledge everything that was said to him, when he saw a blonde boy around the age of eight, trying to pickpocket some poor bourgeoise.

'Gavroche! Hey, Gavroche, turn around!'

The boy cursed silently as the victim left his sight. _No food for me today. _But when he turned around to see who was calling him, his face lit up.

'Hy there, M'sieur Marius! What can I do for ya?'

'Oh thank _God _I ran into you!', Marius cried happily, 'I need you to deliver this letter as fast as you can, will you do that for me?'

'Sure thing M'sieur, y'know I'm the fastest kid in town!', a little boy said proudly, puffing up his chest.

'Gavroche, you are indeed a life saviour! Here's your payment.', with that, he tossed him a silver coin.

'Whoa, that's a whole _franc_!'', a little boy shouted in delight, biting the coin. You can never be too careful in this world. 'Don't worry, M'sieur, your letter will be delivered!', he was gone the same second. Seems like there will be food today nevertheless.

_'Ponine would be so proud of me for earning money fairly ! She really hates stealing from others, but Papa still makes her do so. I haven't seen her for such a long time, hope she's alright!_

And Marius left to meet with Cosette, without a single worry on his mind.

* * *

'Hey! You! Wake up!'

To wake her up involuntarily obviously became a habit of everyone around.

Eponine rubbed her eyes, trying to figure where she was. _Oh, right. A filthy prison cell_. How could she forget?

'Hey, you down there!'

'I have a NAME, GODDAMNIT!'

She really was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

'You little scumbag, I'll never let you out of here, do y'hear me?!', a guard screamed back at her, when a steady voice calmed him down.

'Please, do not feel offended by his words, he is indeed just a boy and doesn't know how to act respectively towards elders. Now, would you be so kind to let him out, I assure you that he will apologise to you properly. Here is a permission, written by inspector Javert himself.' Enjolras could be rather charming when needed.

Eponine stood there, frozen on the spot.

_Impossible._

The sound of a door being unlocked.

_Impossible._

'Shadow?'

He looked at her with those eyes, like the ocean after a storm. She must be dreaming. It wouldn't be for the first time.

'And there I was, thinking that you actually want to get out of here', a statue of a Greek god smirked at her.

'I am free to go?'

'Obviously.'

She slowly began to walk towards him, still unsure if this is a reality. He smiled reassuringly, trying to cover his shock after seeing just how skinny (s)he became.

'Now, do apologise to a man, he really doesn't deserve such a treatment', Enjolras spoke in a sweet, sweet voice, which sounded even more threatening.

'There's no way in hell that I would apologise to this, _this poor excuse for a man_!', she hissed.

'Do as I say if you want to get out of here! I'm pretty sure he would take it upon himself to make your life miserable!', he whispered in her ear, all the sweetness disappeared.

_My life is miserable even without him._

' I am so very sorry, Monsieur, I really didn't want to offend you, please, forgive this poor little boy!', she said, successfully imitating Enjolras' sweetness, while fighting the urge to roll her eyes. But it seemed like he bought it. Enjolras had to admit that he was surprised by this little act. And he was hard to surprise.

They walked out of the prison in silence.

* * *

A sun blinded her as she finally came out of that dark pit that fed on her sorrow for the last few days. The first thing she noticed was a look full of unanswered questions in Enjolras' eyes, but he knew better than to just ask bluntly. And she was grateful for that. She was in no condition to explain a complicated life she led.

Silence.

' I- '

_She has to say it!_

Silence.

'Thank you', she finally whispered. Once again, he smiled at her. 'No need to thank me, it was just natural for me to help you. And the others will be pleased to hear that you are alright, they were really worried.'

She couldn't believe that someone would actually worry about her.

'May I ask you, Monsieur...'

'Enjolras.'

'Enjolras. How did you know where to find me?' She blushed slightly at the thought of him being forced to enter that filthy prison because of her.

'Grantaire saw your arrest. Though he was too drunk to realise it was you, until now.', his voice was covered in ice.

But Eponine smiled. 'Even so, I still owe him my freedom. But not nearly as much as I owe to you, Mon...'

'Enjolras.'

'Right. Please, tell me, how should I repay you?'

'You don't have to. What I did was from my own free will.'

'I have to do something! Anything will do! I cannot stand a thought of being indebted to someone!'

_Especially to you._

'Why is it so important to you?' , he asked curiously.

'Even I have a pride, y'know.' , sarcasm in her voice.

_Damn, Eponine, stop acting like an ungrateful child!_

'Of course. I didn't mean to offend you. Let me think of something, then.'

'Thank you.'

Silence.

'Oh, I know!', his face shined with happiness, something she has never seen before, and it was so radiating, so contagious that she felt her lips curling into a smile.

'You can help me with my revolutionary plans and speeches! I really need a helping hand, there are so many books and it's taking me forever to find references and quotes that I need!'

His happy expression faded away immediately after seeing her face that was drowning in sorrow. She muttered something incomprehensible.

'Sorry, can you repeat that?', he asked, utterly confused.

'I do not know how to read. Nor write.', she whispered, not looking at him.

'That's all? My, I thought that it's something worse after seeing your expression!', he laughed. 'Do not worry about that, though.'

She looked at him with a puzzled look.

'I will teach you. Tomorrow, 8 am, my place. Don't be late!'

And with that, he left.

* * *

_**...Les Mis, nor any of its characters. Well, this was unexpected, wasn't it? **_

**Though I do own mistakes in this story! Sorry about that :/ And there's probably quite a lot of them, considering the fact that I wrote this at 4 am :/**

**Nevertheless, thank you so much for your lovely comments, they make writing even more fun! ^^**


	5. Chapter 5

_5. Now, I'm Here_

* * *

Since Eponine knew what was waiting for her at home, she didn't have the courage to go back. For the time being, she decided to stay with her little brother Gavroche.

It's unnecessary to say that she was extremely excited about the meeting with Enjolras, so she went to a meeting place _a bit_ earlier than said.

It was 7 am when Enjolras heard someone humming outside of his apartment. Still sleepy, with his hair ruffled up in every possible direction, he opened the door that led to a narrow hall. And there was a boy, leaning against the wall, humming silently to himself.

'Shadow?', he asked, running a hand through his hair. The boy immediately stopped humming and turned around to face Enjolras. His dirty, skinny face seemed a little red, like he was ashamed of being heard by someone.

'You're already here? Isn't it too early?'

'I apologise if I woke you up, Mons- Enjolras', a blush hardened. 'I just wanted to make sure that I'm here on time!'

Enjolras couldn't help but laugh. ' My, if every student were as dutiful as you are, the world would not need a revolution! Come on, go inside.'

Eponine nodded in agreement and vigilantly entered the apartment. And it looked like...

Like a complete mess.

But not because it was actually messy, on the contrary, it was all arranged in a perfect order. But that's precisely why it seemed like a mess to Eponine, who was used to, well, disorder and chaos. And in here, everything was sorted out and perfectly clean. Books were everywhere, sitting comfortably on their shelves (in extremely tidy way, of course). She could almost hear them whisper about the ancient times, lost battles and fallen kings. Every shelve had its own coloured little note, though Eponine could not read them. One entire wall was painted in dark, crimson red, and it was covered with papers filled with scribbles, and pictures of historic France. The only thing that stood out from this room was a work table, and it looked like every disorder that missed from the rest of the place gathered right there. And with the sight of that table, Eponine finally managed to relax. It was like the table spoke to her: _He is also just a man._

But her eyes continued their search through the room, until she has finally located the object of her search: an upright piano, hidden beneath a crimson cover, blending with the wall behind it. A picture flickered in front of her eyes..._an angel bent over the piano..._

'Sit anywhere you like, make yourself comfortable.' Enjolras interrupted her thoughts and disappeared in a kitchen.

She looked around one more time, and, completely ignoring the soft couch, she sat at the work table, examining the papers and thinking about...

_...about his golden locks, covering his eyes in such a charming way. About his sleepy face, and how it looks somehow childlike, even though it has such sharp features. About his eyes, (did she ever stop thinking about his eyes?), and how mesmerised she was by them. About his long, slender fingers that created the most beautiful melody she has ever heard. About..._

'Would you like some coffee?'

Her face was now crimson as the wall behind her. Enjolras still couldn't understand why.

'Yes, please.'

He sat on a chair next to her and handed her a warm cup. His fingers slightly brushed at hers.

_God, this is worse than spending time in prison._

'So, let's begin with our studies.'

She had to concentrate, put all the feelings aside and get to work. It's like pick pocketing; you cannot let your emotions interfere. And she was the master of hiding her true feelings.

_Except from the person in front of me. He can break through every barricade that stands in front of my heart with nothing more than a single glance. You're going soft, 'Ponine. Too soft for your own good._

But she succeeded, and her face went completely blank. Her mind focused entirely on a voice leading her through letters and words.

Enjolras was...confused. And this boy in front of him was the main reason. How can someone who has never even heard of the words like _grammar _and _lexis_ (_'it has something to do with words and sentences, right?'_) be able to learn so unbelievably fast? But what captured his attention even more was the boy's face. It was the first time that he had seen it up close, and something seemed out of place, although he couldn't realise what. Not that it was blemished or something, it was just...not a face of an ordinary boy. His eyes were too big for his skinny face, and shaped like almonds.

What the hell is wrong with him today? He should probably stop working so late at night, it obviously interferes with his reasoning.

'Can I try to read this word now? So, this is S, that one is, um, A? The next one is D...', Eponine suddenly stopped, frowning. Her lips were moving while she tried to read the word. Just a second later, she smiled triumphal. 'It says Shadow!'

His eyes widened in shock. He was actually left speechless! And it was even more uncommon to see than a completely sober Grantaire.

'It doesn't say Shadow, does it?', her face fell.

'No, no, it does, actually. It's just...', he sighed. ' Only a few hours passed, and you are already able to read. That's...pretty much incredible.'

'Oh, it's only because I was able to memorize the alphabet quickly, I still need a lot of time to recall which letter is which.' Despite her words, she felt proud of herself.

As Enjolras looked at the word written in front of him, a sudden realisation struck him.

'Shadow, I don't even know what your real name is!'

'Ponine', she blurted out without thinking. And she instantly regretted it. ' It's a name more fitting for a girl rather than a boy, I know. Mother once said to me that I was such a pretty baby, and that she had always wanted a girl, so...'

So that's the secret behind his face! Though it was only natural for Enjolras not to realize that sooner. It's not like he's an expert in facial features of a woman. Nor anything else concerning them, as the matter of fact.

'Well, that explains why you let everyone call you by a nickname.'

She slightly blushed.

_Thank God, he still believes in my story!_

'And... May I ask what your first name is?'

'What makes you think it's not Enjolras?'

She stopped, realizing that he's got the point.

'But you were right indeed, Enjolras is not my first name', he laughed lightly at her puzzled expression.

Even though his attitude was carefree, she saw that he is not comfortable with this topic. She could only hope that, one day, he will be able to open himself to her.

'My, it's already 11! I should get going, or I'll be late for my classes. See you at the café tonight?'

'I'll be there. Erm...thank you. I'm still not sure how am I going to repay you when I'm just becoming more and more indebted to you with all this!'

'Look at it like a preparation for your future repayment.', he smiled. This boy was indeed interesting, and, at the top of that, smart enough to keep him entertained, so he didn't mind teaching him. And this should also prevent him from overworking himself. He really has to stop spending all of his time working if he wants to remain strong for the fight, both mentally and physically.

Leaving Enjolras' apartment, Eponine smiled to herself.

_I'm getting to know him._

* * *

A shadow appeared in a nearby ally, watching the girl as she walked down the street.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello! Sorry if this chapter is a little sloppy, I caught the flu, and I'm feeling...well...awful, but I really wanted to write another chapter, so, hopefully it's not **_**too**_** bad! And also, I have to thank Dona-Vngaz for her wonderful review, really, I cannot describe how happy I was after reading it! Thank you so much!**

* * *

6. _I Want To Break Free_

* * *

She felt that someone was watching her. And she knew who it was.

_Well, this was bound to happen sooner or later._

So she turned around to face her father. He was smiling, but his eyes were full of hatred. A sudden memory popped in her mind...

_Ma petite princesse! Look, look in the mirror...you have your Papa's eyes...one day, those eyes will capture a prince's heart, and you will live in a castle as beautiful as yourself. Ma belle princesse..._

He gently placed his hand on her cheek, examining her face. Maybe even recalling the same memory. His glance softened. What was that, in his eyes, a glimpse of remorse?

She felt unbearable pain as her head hit the cold street stone. He lifted her up, then slapped her again. And again. And again. Next was a blow to her ribs, abdomen, legs. Pelting over her crumbled body. Warm blood started to stream down her face, blurring her vision, leaving metallic taste in her mouth.

Then he left. Not a single word was spoken.

* * *

Eponine carefully tried to stand up. It took her quite some time to do so, since she was shaking with her whole body. People stared, moving from her way as she walked down the street, trying to get to the river. She stepped into the cold, flowing water, colouring it red as she washed her face. After a thorough examination, Eponine concluded that it went rather well. Only one broken rib, a wound on her head and a lot of bruises. She could deal with that.

* * *

The night fell over the streets of Paris.

She slipped through the door of café Musain as quiet as she could, knowing that Enjolras hates being interrupted in the middle of his speech. And indeed, there he was, his deep voice echoing through the room filled with mesmerised students. Suddenly, she flinched as someone pulled her into a rib-crashing hug, which didn't help to her already pretty much crashed ribs. A strong faint of alcohol filled her nostrils.

'SHADY! YOU'RE BACK! I'M SO SORRY, I'M SOOO SORRY, IT WAS ALL MY FAULT!', Grantaire cried, obviously drunk as a skunk.

'Grantaire, calm down, you were the one to save me!', her voice was strained from pain. 'Now please, let me go, you're hurting me.' He let her go with a hiccup.

Grantaire's yelling attracted everyone's attention, except Enjolras'. It took him some time to realize that no one is listening anymore. With an angry sight, he asked Bahorel what's that entire ruckus about.

'Shady's back', he explained.

'Shady, we're so happy that you're back! Enjolras was a pain in the ass when you weren't around to brighten the mood', Courfeyrac grinned, 'but what the hell happened to your face?!'

'I was...'

'Late.', Enjolras finished her sentence, trying to break through the crowd.

'Yes, I know, I'm really sorry for that, but...'

'Enj, give him a break, can't you see he's hurt?', Combeferre replied, staring at Enjolras.

'What is- wait, what happened to you?', he finally noticed Eponine's bruised face.

'I- nothing, I got into a fight with a drunkard and I got beaten up, that's all', she replied, trying to hide the pain Grantaire caused to her ribs. But Enjolras noticed. ' Joly, see if you can do something about it.'

Joly nodded as he approached her. 'Let's see what the damage is, now, shall we?'

'No! There's no need!', she panicked, knowing that they will find out if she let Joly examine her wounds.

'But you're clearly hurt, just let me...'

_'I said no', _shehissed, but she forced a smile after seeing his hurt expression.

'Really, I'm alright, I am used to this. It's nothing to worry about, I promise'

'Are you sure, Shady?', Joly asked, still rather suspicious.

'Positive', she grinned at him. 'And now, let's see, how should I make Grantaire pay for his sins? Any suggestions?'

_'What_?! But you said that I saved you!'

'Hmmm, maybe I should make him stop drinking?' A room bursted with sounds of approval.

'Do you intend to _kill me_? You cannot do this!', he pleaded.

'Are you actually saying that you would do that?', she asked in surprise. 'Are you really feeling _that _guilty?'

'Well, actually, I don't', he grinned, 'but this place needed a bit of showtime, Marble was killing us with his speeches! _Blahblahblah, Patria!, _or something like that.'

'Do you _ever _bother to listen?! Sometimes I even wonder why are you still here!', Enjolras hissed at a drunkard, clearly shaken by his words. 'You don't even believe in our cause! What _do_ you believe in, Grantaire?!'

'You', a man answered simply. 'You are my best friend, and I shall always stay by your side.'

'Awww Grant, that's so sweet!', Courfeyrac grinned, 'I had no idea that you actually think about something other than alcohol and women!'

'Shut up', he muttered, to everyone's amusement.

'Well, the show is over, go home now', Enjolras said. His face didn't show any emotions, but he was deeply grateful for Grantaire's response.

Eponine headed towards the door when she was stopped by a firm grip on her shoulder.

'Ponine, could you stay a minute more? I have something for you.'

'Please, do not call me by my name, what if Grantaire hears you?! He won't let me alone for the rest of my life!'

'Sorry for that, I'm just not comfortable with nicknames...probably also Grantaire's fault', he laughed.

Eponine smiled. She liked to see his laughing face. A smile would cause wrinkles to appear around his eyes, and it would remind her that he is not made of marble.

'So, what was it that you needed me for?'

'I wanted to give you this.'

He gave her a packet, wrapped up in a simple brown paper.

'Come on, open up.'

A present? For _her_?

Eponine's hands were shaking as she started to tear up the paper.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer: The brick...it's mine, yes, **__**yes...my preciousssss...**__**ok, not mine nor Gollums, but you already know**__** that.**_

**A/N: Thank you for following/favoriting/reviewing...it really makes my day, especially with this freakin' flu that won't go away :/**

**P.S. I promise I will reveal Eponine's gender soon, I know this is kinda tiring...**

* * *

7. _The Night Comes Down_

* * *

It was a book, as expected from Enjolras.

Eponine gently stroked the leather cover, slowly spelling the golden words.

_La mythologie grecque_

She opened the book with her still shivering hands and saw two words standing below the title. Just two simple words , written in beautiful cursive handwriting, caused her heart to sing like bells on a windy morning .

_To Ponine_

'It should help you improve your reading skills. I thought of giving you _La République_, but Courfeyrac kept telling me that it would be too hard for you to understand , so I gave you this instead', he stated.

Eponine couldn't remember the last time she got a present . She just stood there, completely speechless. Enjolras frowned.

'I can always give you another one if this one doesn't suit your tastes.'

'God no, ...it's the greatest gift I have ever received! But I-I can't accept this, it's too much Monsieur, I cannot afford myself to be even more indebted to you!', she said, unconsciously entitling him.

'I should have known you will react like this', Enjolras smiled slightly. 'Very well, then, let's make a deal. You will accept the book if I ask you something in return, right?'

She nodded.

'Then I would like you to answer a few questions. Firstly, why did you lie?'

Eponine's brows furrowed. 'What do you mean by that?'

'Earlier this evening, you lied about getting into a fight. Something else happened, and I would like to know what. And after that you can tell me why you ended up in prison. That should make a sufficient repayment for the book.'

'Wait, wait, slow down! _Firstly_ ', she said , with sarcasm clearly audible in her voice, 'how the hell would _you_ know if what I said was a lie or not?! And _secondly_, your other question is directly connected to my family problems and I cannot see why would a bourgeois like yourself care about this poor gamin's personal problems!'

She knew she had no right to act like that, especially after everything he has done for her, but he...he sometimes _infuriates_ her! How dare he act like he knows her? For God's sake, he doesn't even know that she's a _girl_!

'Firstly', Enjolras answered calmly, which infuriated her even more, 'you tend to slightly tilt your head to one side when you lie. I noticed it when you apologised to a prison guard, and it was rather clear that you didn't mean it. Secondly, I thought that I have the right to know why you ended up in prison, considering the fact that I was the one to get you out of there. I apologise if that caused you any inconvenience.'

Eponine was now bright red.

'You are right. I'm sorry...my temper gets out of control when my family is mentioned.', she muttered, still ashamed of her little scene.

'Maybe it doesn't seem like it, but I do understand how you feel', he answered with a sad smile, his eyes distant.

She was dying to ask him about his family, but she knew she has no right to do that. So she simply began to tell her story.

'Actually, both of your questions are related to my family. Y'see, I wasn't always like this.

My family used to own an inn, and the business was good. I had everything that I wanted and more. My parents adored me. But soon after the bankrupt, father started to drink. Alot. To make everything even worse, mother became pregnant with a second child. And then the third.

We had no home, no money, no food.

My father became a thief, and I was forced to join him. If not, I would get beaten. I was pick pocketing that day, and I got caught. Father was not happy. So he _'gave me what I deserved_', as he likes to say. And that's pretty much it.'

Her face was cold and apathetic even though she gave her all to beautify the story. Some things are better left unsaid.

'Oh right, I almost forgot. My last name is Thenardier, and my father is the leader of Patron-Minette.'

If Enjolras wasn't shocked by now, this certainly did the trick. He remained silent for a moment, fighting some internal fight, until he finally decided to speak.

'My parents were musicians.'

She gave him a puzzled look. She was sure he'd resent her after hearing the whole story, but it seemed like he was... preparing to tell her his own?

'My father was a pianist, and my mother was a singer. They met during her concert, and he was mesmerised by her voice. Soon after, they got married. My grandfather did not approve of their marriage, or his son's choice of career. He resented music, telling that it's just a waste of time. But he stayed silent.

They both died when I was five years old.

Their fiacre crashed on a way to a party. I started to live with my grandfather.

Father's piano was thrown away, and I was forbidden to play music. It was my only passion back then, and I was rather talented, but that talent had to be thrown away.

My childhood was like the one of a caged bird.

Books were my only escape, my newly found passion. And after reading Plato's _La République_, I instantly knew that my life will be dedicated to only one cause, and that is, bringing freedom and equality to everyone, no exceptions.

Let's just say that, for my grandfather, the only thing worse than being a musician , is being a revolutionist. So he threw me out of his respectable home and disinherited me.'

Enjolras' marble face matched his tone of voice. His story was told in a simple way, not like any of his usual speeches. He didn't feel the need to use grand words in front of this simple boy. He just wanted to tell it to someone who would understand.

And Eponine understood perfectly.

The empty room was filled with silence, but not the uncomfortable one. They knew the silence was needed. Time passed by, not a word was spoken between the two tormented souls. As the night grew darker, they finally parted. A silent thanks escaped Eponine's lips as she tightened the grip around the book. Enjolras nodded in response.

A firm friendship was established.

* * *

Their meetings became a regular thing in café Musain. After a writing lecture, Eponine and Enjolras would gather all the books, basically forming a barricade, and started to plan a revolution. No one looked particularly bothered by that, except maybe for Grantaire. Utterly bored (and utterly drunk), as he usually was, he often tried to waste his time by teasing Shady. But (s)he rarely noticed, frowning above one of the heavy politics books.

'What the hell is happening around here? Am I sobering up?! Shady? WHY THE HELL ARE YOU TURNING INTO MARBLE?!'

'Sssh Grant, it's good for a boy, he's finally getting some education', Combeferre tried to calm the latter down.

He just hissed a curse and opened another bottle.

* * *

Eponine spread onto the thin mattress in her room, completely exhausted. It was a good day, though, even her father seemed to be in a good mood. Her hand entered the slot at the side of the mattress, in a search of the leather book, her dearest possession.

Her eyes widened in horror.

'Where is it?!', she frantically whispered, desperately searching every corner of the small room. 'WHERE IS IT?!'

'Are you looking for this?'

Her father stood in a doorway, holding the book in his filthy hand. Eponine felt her stomach turn.

'Give it back. Now.'

'Now, why would I do that?', he giggled in response, a sly expression on his face.

'Please', she begged.

'Let's see...what are you willing to do to get it back?'

Silence.

'Anything.', she whispered.

'Anything?', a grin on his face widened.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hello there! Yes, yes, I hate cliffhangers too, so I tried to update as fast as possible...Thank you all for following/favoriting/reviewing!**

_**PhoenixGirl97: **_**Sorrysorrysorry! But I have an announcement, and hopefully, you will be happy to hear it. Just one filler chapter until Eponine finally reveals herself! Please bare with me for that one chapter more :)**

_**Lady Krystalyn , a cup of insanity: **_**Thank you for your wishes, I feel a lot better now!**

_**Disclaimer: Too tired to think of something witty. The brick is not mine.**_

* * *

8._Under Pressure_

* * *

The night was silent as grave. Only the burbling sound of Seine breaking through the veil of darkness could be heard. A frail ray of moonlight fell on a sad, skinny face of a boy surrounded by group of men. His eyes reflected the moonlight like a mirror, changing from deep brown to almost silver, like some frivolous game of shadows. What was the poor boy doing on the streets of Paris in the middle of the night?

Let's go back in time, now, shall we?

* * *

_Two days earlier_

'Anything', she whispered, knowing that she will regret saying that one, simple word.

His grin was almost too painful to look at.

'A little bird told me that you have a bourgeois friend...'

'A little bird named 'Parnasse, I presume', Eponine said bitterly.

'Not important. But _yes_, he was the one to tell me about this..._desirable_ young man living just across that café you frequently visit. Isn't that a _wonderful_ coincidence, my little 'Ponine? And on top of that, you've already been inside of his apartment, not my business why, but...' he giggled at this little joke of his.

'Cut the long story short. What do you want from me?'

But she knew.

'Oh, _come on_ 'Ponine, you were always the clever one, I'm sure y'know what I want you to do!'

Oh she did.

'My lock-picking skills are already quite rusty, I'm not sure if...'

'My knife is also rusty, but I'm sure that it would be able to take care of this pretty leather cover. If not, there's _always_ fire.'

'Why are you doing this? What have I done to deserve this?' her voice cried, but her eyes stayed dry. Thenardiers don't cry.

'You have done no wrong to me, _ma petite princesse_...the universe has a strange sense of humour, that's all', he answered bitterly.' Now, will you do what I asked?'

'It's not like I have a choice.' She sounded old, so old and tired.

'Oh, but you do, _ma fille_, you do', Thenardier's voice was gentle. 'There's always a choice. But it's up to us to make a decision.'

* * *

_The present day_

The strangely looking group continued their little 'expedition'. If you were to see it, you would probably think that they were a part of some distorted circus troop. Babet, a jack of all trades, walked side by side with a man who looked more like a beast than a human being, Gueulemer . Behind them was Claquesous, a man-shadow with numerous faces, and neither of them really belonged to him. He was closely followed by Thenardier, a group's clown. Always with a grin on his face, especially after he empties your pockets and leaves, touching his silly tilted hat in salutation.

And lagging at the end of this grotesque parade was a tall boy with a face of a porcelain doll, cherry-red lips and killer's eyes. His hand was tightly gripping a slim waist of another...boy?

'Let go of me 'Parnasse!', Eponine hissed. 'You have no right to treat me like one of your _possessions_', she spitted the last word as it was a curse.

'Your father doesn't mind', he grinned. 'Well, _he_ has no right to, considering the price I paid for your company. Hopefully, it will be worth it.'

'Hope dies last.' she answered sarcastically. Montparnasse was a patient man, she knew that, but she also knew that his patience won't last forever.

'I _will_ have you one day.'

'Sure you will.' Sarcasm dripping from her lips like venom.

His answer was interrupted by Thenardier.

'We're here', he stated.

Lock-picking was just one of the many unwanted talents of Eponine Thenardier. And this was the right time to show it.

Everyone waited in anticipation, but she just stood there as if she became a marble statue, like the one she was preparing to rob.

'What t'hell is wrong with ya girl? C'mon, open up that door 'lready!', Babet urged her.

'I will.', she spoke firmly, turning to her father. 'As soon as you tell me where the book is. I need to know that I will get it back. And don't forget, I know when you lie to me!' The truth is, his head tilts to one side. Yes, it comes from his side of the family.

'It's in the pantry, hidden behind the bottles.'

She inspected his movements carefully before she finally nodded in response.

'What 'r they talking 'bout?', Gueulemer asked with a confused look on his bestial face. His features were the ones of a titan, but he had a mind of a five year-old. That is probably why no one bothered to answer him. Or was it because every pair of eyes was locked on a small figure hunched over the lock?

Seconds later, Eponine heard an unpleasantly familiar clicking sound. To everyone else, it was the sound of a job done well. They entered a dark room as quietly as they could, with Eponine being the last one.

'Surprise.'

Suddenly, all the lights went on, revealing a room full of police, with inspector Javert and Enjolras standing in front.

Growled curses escaped everyone's lips as they tried to get out of the apartment, but the door was locked behind them. And Eponine was holding the key.

'You little _bitch_!', Montparnasse hissed, his eyes killing her on that very spot. Eponine couldn't care less for his words, but she worriedly checked if Enjolras has heard them. But for once in her miserable life, luck was actually laying on her side of the bed.

Every member of notorious Patron-Minette was handcuffed and ready to reach their long awaited destination - prison cell. Clacquesous, as shadowy as he is, almost escaped, but Enjolras was too quick for him, knocking him unconscious with one precise blow to the latter's head.

The strange parade that entered the apartment left it even stranger, complemented with police officers who looked like beast tamers. The circus took off.

'Ponine?', her father called her one last time. She raised her head; there was no regret in her eyes.

'Take care of mère for me, would you?'

She nodded in response.

'Papa?'

Now was his turn to raise a head.

'I love you.', her voice broke at the last word.

He smiled softly, and for the first time after almost a decade, her Papa was back, even if it was only for a short moment.

'I know, _ma belle princesse_. I love you too.'

And that was the end of Patron-Minette.

* * *

After he finished serving his prison sentence, Thenardier saw his daughter one more time, but she wasn't aware of his presence. She was too busy running after a small boy who was yelling 'Mère, catch me if you can!'. The other members of Patron-Minette died at a prison fight, just a few days before their release. And Thenardier became a succesful inn-keeper, and led a respectful life.

But that's a whole other story.

* * *

'Thank you, boy, Enjolras told me this wouldn't be possible without you', inspector Javert said to Eponine.

She blushed slightly at the statement.

'I couldn't let them rob my friend, it was a natural thing to do!'

Inspector smiled. 'I came as soon as Enjolras told me that Patron-Minette is preparing to rob him, this was a chance we could not miss. We were tracking them for the last seven years, without any success. We even promised a reward to the person who helps us in any possible way! Oh, which reminds me...', he called one of his men, who handed him a plain-looking bag. 'I believe this belongs to you now. Spend it wisely.'

Eponine was too shocked for words. This money was enough for her to support her and her whole family for almost a year! She turned around to thank the inspector, but he already left.

'And I believe I owe you my thanks', Enjolras smiled at a sight of a complete happiness written all over the boy's face. 'I do not know how would I be able to continue with my studies or anything else, if it wasn't for your warning.'

'Then, I believe that my debt to you has been paid', she winked mischievously at him.

'Indeed.'

'May I ask you for one more favour, though?', she stuffed some of the money in her pockets, and handed the rest to Enjolras. 'Would you keep this safe for me? You're free to take some, if you need, too!'

'Of course I would, but I do not intend to-'

But she already ran out of the apartment.

'That silly boy', Enjolras smiled to himself, 'He surely grows on you.'

A marble began to crack.

* * *

**A/N: A few words regarding Javert...yup, I totally changed his character, but I **_**really **_**needed a cop on Enjolras' side...he and his friends tend to get into various troubles, as you can see.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: How to express the feeling of happiness after reading your reviews for the previous chapter? Guys, seriously, you are ****AMAZING****, and I cannot find enough words to tell you that! So I stayed awake and wrote a new chapter, the last one featuring Eponine as a boy! Yaaaay, I'm so excited! Though I'm not really content with this chapter, but let's consider it a filler (not an acceptable excuse, but my mind is not at it's best today...)**

* * *

9. _Spread Your Wings_

* * *

The first thing Eponine bought was food. Lots of it.

Actually, enough to feed the whole household. And she gave it all to Gavroche and Azelma, keeping just a small bun to herself. They needed it more than she did.

Then she bought some new pieces of clothes, of course, again for her brother and sister. She felt rather comfortable in her rags.

Rest of the money was put aside.

Finding a proper job was her next decision. This was supposed to be pretty difficult to obtain, but Les Amis were more than ready to help.

* * *

In the end, Marius was the one who came up with the best solution. He said that she should start her own business together with Azelma and Gavroche.

Everyone looked at him like he just said that Enjolras fell in love.

'Dear boy, that Cosette really made a mess in your head.', Combeferre sighed helplessly.

'Which would mean that they already made some mess in her _room_, am I right, lover boy?', Grantaire playfully winked at completely red Marius.

'I would _never_ do such a thing before marriage!', he replied angrily, much to everyone's amusement.

Enjolras sighed.

'Will you just stop answering to their mocking and finish the thought?'

'Oh right, Shady.' He coughed, a blush still colouring his freckled cheeks. 'As you all know, Shady used to deliver letters to my beloved Cosette...' Everyone growled in response. How could they forget?

'Yesyes, we know, alright? _To my beloved Cosette: your hair shines like a pure gold and enlightens my soul..._', Courfeyrac said in a dramatic tone.

'._..your choral red lips are whispering sweet words in my dreams_...', Joly continued, perfectly synchronized with Courf.

'..._your eyes are bluer than depths of the ocean, and I am drowning in their waves, grasping._..', said Prouvaire, too spirited for his own good.

'Somebody, _please,_ stop him, he's out of control!', Feuilly whispered frantically.

'..._grasping for air like._..'

Grantaire infiltrated, '..._like a well pleased woman who grasps for more_...'

'That's enough! _Grant_...', Enjolras glared at Grantaire, who was rolling with laughter at the sight of Marius, who kept opening and closing his mouth out of a pure shock, much like a freshly caught fish.

'God, _can we just go back to the topi_c?!', Enjolras shouted, gritting his teeth. 'Marius, _please_, continue.'

'Right, right, where was I...Shady knows every street, ally and shortcut around here... Gavroche is small and fast, perfect for delivering letters...what I'm saying is, why not turn that into a business?', Marius replied, restoring his composure.

Les Amis looked rather surprised with this conclusion.

'That is actually a pretty good idea.', Enjolras frowned, his mind working like a precise clock. 'And it could work. Let's see what Shadow thinks about it.'

* * *

Eponine was delighted.

At first, business was slow, but people soon started to realize that it's a rather economical way to send letters.

With her first salary, Eponine finally bought something for herself.

She quietly entered the bookstore, dragging fingers over the covers, inhaling the smell of paper, leather and ink deep into her lungs.

'Do you have a specific book or author that you would like to buy?' An old man asked her, lifting his glasses.

'Umm, no, not really. Could you recommend me something, please?'

'Huh, can you at least tell me a genre?'

She blushed slightly. 'Romance?'

'Very well. Let's see...' , he mumbled to himself, searching the shelves. 'Ah, it's here. Maybe this would suit your tastes. It's the story about a boy and a girl and their forbidden love.'

'Do you want to know why was it forbidden?', he asked, smiling.

Her eyes widened. 'Yes!'

'Buy a book, then.' The old man winked at her mischievously.

She took a book in her hands.

_Roméo et Juliette_

'Alright, I will buy it.'

* * *

A vivid discussion was led that day at café Musain. Even Grantaire took part in it.

Only Eponine ignored it completely, sitting by the window with her nose stuck in a book . She was mesmerised with it. Laughing and crying, yelling and whispering along with the characters. Then, just when she got to the part where Romeo dies, a tiny figure ran into the room, yelling something incomprehensible.

'Gavroche, Gavroche, calm down and tell us what's wrong', Courfeyrac asked the boy, holding his skinny shoulders.

Eponine raised her head.

'Lamarque is dead.'

The book fell from her hands.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Something about this chapter seriously bothers me, though I revised it for, like, a **_**hundred **_**times. It infuriates me! So I gave up. Not proud of myself for doing that.**

* * *

10. _Don't Try So Hard_

* * *

'Lamarque is...dead? Are you _sure_?', Bahorel asked, his usual grin disappeared from his face.

'I wouldn't joke 'bout that, M'sieour.' Despite his young age, Gavroche's eyes contained seriousness of a grown man.

Eponine lifted the book that was lifelessly lying on the floor. Her movements were slow and grave, as though as she wore the weight of a whole world on her shoulders. Her gaze fell on the blond man standing in the middle of the room, her eyes crying unshed tears.

Enjolras' sapphire eyes were burning as he spoke.

'My friends'

_Don't._

'Our time has finally come!'

_Please._

'Remember this day, remember this moment! Lamarque's death is a great tragedy, but it is also a sign! A sing of a new beginning, a new world, where everyone's equal, proudly standing side by side... creating a better life, a brighter future - together!'

_Stop!_

'So I am asking you once again; are you ready to fight for that future? Are you ready to fight for your rights, for your freedom, for France? _Are you ready_?!'

_I can't take this!_

_'Vive le liberte! Vive le France!_' Cries were filling the room, clenched fists breaking the air, tension rising with every spoken word.

No one noticed the slim figure that ran towards the door, desperately trying to get out of the room.

* * *

When she finally broke through, she ran as fast as she could, a cold wind biting her face, freezing her lungs, stealing her breath. She tripped and fell, blind to everything that surrounded her, to the mud that covered her hands, to the pain that screamed in the back of her head.

_They are going to die._

_They are all going to die._

* * *

'Courf, have you seen Shady lately?', Enjolras asked, frowning slightly over the map. 'He wasn't with us on Lamarque's funeral either.'

He looked as cold as ever, but Courfeyrac was not fooled by that façade. He could see the disappointment lingering in Enjolras' eyes.

'He is just a boy, Enjolras; you can't blame him for running away.' he silently replied. 'He must be terrified.'

'I know that. He is free to do as he wishes. It's just that...never mind.', Enjolras answered, lips tightened into a thin line on his perfectly embossed face.

'I understand, my friend. We are fighting to help those who are like him... and you thought that he fights with us, that he believes in the same thing. And I am convinced that he does. But not everyone is as brave as you are', Courfeyrac added softly, trying to reassure his friend. 'He will be back, I am sure of it.'

Enjolras didn't answer.

* * *

He never left her sight. Not for a single moment.

During the Lamarque's funeral, when he raised the red flag high in the sky, she was there, watching silently from shadows.

When the pile of furniture began to grow, she was there to see the pain in his eyes, directed towards a crashed piano that someone threw away so casually.

She never left his side. Not for a single moment.

She just couldn't face him, knowing that she would fall apart beneath his piercing look.

* * *

The barricade was built. People locked themselves inside of their homes. The revolutionists were at their places, waiting in silence. Eponine molded between them, her cap pulled down to hide her face. The silence was broken with a sound of many footsteps; marching , getting closer. Her eyes widened at the number of bayonets pointed at them, knowing that they cannot win against such force. Not without Parisians joining them.

But they were alone.

'Surrender now while you still have the chance. If not, we won't show you any mercy', an officer shouted.

Men started whispering. What if they die today? Various thoughts filled their minds.

_His mother is worried sick._

_He wants to become a doctor._

_His lady is praying for him tonight._

Enjolras' sharp voice was heard above the whispers on the barricade.

_'Vive le France!'_

And with that, every fear disappeared from the souls of men. They were ready to lay their lives here and now, for the sake of their country, for the better life.

Countless cries repeated the words as the first bullet ripped the air.

The battle was fierce, both sides fighting with all their might. Eponine's eyes frantically searched the crowd, trying to spot Enjolras' blonde head, when someone shouted to the opposing side:

'Stop the shooting, or I will blow up the whole barricade!'

Marius was holding a powder keg with a determined look on his face.

_Is he mad?!_

She could see the young officer that attempted to shoot. Enjolras could see him too. He broke into a run. He could not let his friend die. In a split of a second, he pushed Marius aside, ready to take the bullet...

But the bullet was stopped by a small figure, unrecognizable through the haze.

Moments later, another voice filled the air.

'Stop the shooting! It's a direct order!'

Everything seemed to be happening in a slow motion. Eponine could see Marius lifting the barrel. She could see the bayonet pointed at him.

And she could see the blond revolutionary that attempted to take the bullet.

Her legs moved without her even realising it.

* * *

You know how they say that, just before you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes?

The only thing Eponine Thenardier saw was the red flower that bloomed from her chest.

She couldn't feel the rain that gently washed the dirt from her face, but she could hear the music, _her music_, playing somewhere far, far away. She could hear her song, as a single tear rolled down from the corner of her eye, falling on the blooming, crimson flower.

_And rain will make the flowers grow_

Yes, Thenardiers do not cry, but Eponine wasn't a Thenardier anymore. She was Juliet, dying with Romeo's name on her lips.

_Enjolras..._

* * *

'Stop the shooting! It's a direct order!', Javert shouted, afraid that he came too late.

'Revolutionists, I have come to negotiate, and I come in peace! Who is your leader?'

Enjolras stood up.

Javert sighed in relief. He was still alive.

Javert knew from the very beginning that the revolution will not succeed. Parisians were too afraid to confront the government. The world was not ready for this change.

So he used all the influent connections he had. He pleaded, he threatened, he did everything that he could to save these boys from a certain death. In the end, he mentioned that they were the ones who helped capture Patron-Minette, a dreadful gang that ravened the streets of Paris for such a long time. And it did the trick. His superior promised to let the revolutionists go if they gave up the revolution.

'You are free to go now, new orders will arrive tomorrow.'

'Monsieur, are you sure you will be safe with these..._scoundrels_?', some officer hissed, asking Javert.

'I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Felix, thank you', his voice was firm.

As the opponents began to retreat, Joly and the others started their search for the wounded, and Enjolras entered the battered café together with Javert.

_'Why did you stop us?!_ I've told you about the revolution only because I thought that I should at least let you know what will happen to me, and then you come and _stop us_!', Enjolras shouted at the man. 'I thought that I can trust you, like my father did, and you betrayed me, you betrayed _us_!'

'I never thought of you as stupid, Enjolras', Javert answered calmly. 'But, when you started this revolution, what was your plan? You thought that people will follow? That they will join you singing? People are not ready for the change, and your friends are not ready to die. _You_ are not ready.'

'I _was_. I was ready to die for Patria!'

'Alright, maybe you were. But were you ready to _survive_? To see your friends die before your eyes, and to live with it for the rest of your life? Seeing their faces every night before you close your eyes, hearing their screams in your every nightmare?' Javert's words were sharp and painful.

Enjolras stayed silent, examining the aggrieved man who stood before him.

'You know that their death was not your fault', he replied quietly.

'I was the one who called your father to that party. I asked him to play that night. I caused his death, along with your mother's.' Grief was filling Javert's voice. 'I couldn't let you die, I owe that to your father.'

His gaze softened. 'You are intelligent, my dear Enjolras. You know that there is another way to fight for your beliefs. Go back to your studies, become a lawyer and change the world, little by little. Kingdoms didn't fall in a day, did they?'

'No more revolutions, at least not visible ones. Promise me.'

Enjolras' fists were tightly clenched. He couldn't let it go so easily, this revolution was his whole life! His beliefs lay shattered beneath his feet. How can he go on after this?

His eyes wandered around the barricade.

Combeferre was helping Joly to get wounded men inside despite the wound on his forehead.

Bahorel was searching for Marius, calling his name.

Painful moans coming from every possible direction were filling Enjolras' ears.

'I promise', he quietly vowed.

* * *

'Come 'ere, Joly, this one's still breathing!', little Gavroche called, then bent to look at the man's face.

A dreadful scream made Joly fasten his step.

'Ponine, it's Ponine, _help_!', the little one cried in horror. Courfeyrac appeared, followed by Prouvaire. They helped Joly to lift the limp body in haste.

'Put him here, be careful with the head', Joly said, covering the fear in his voice. Gavroche was already frightened enough, now sobbing into Courfeyrac's shoulder. He gently removed the tattered shirt.

His hands stopped moving.

Shady's chest was wrapped tightly in bandages, but they still couldn't hide the obvious. Slowly, as though as he was afraid of something, Joly removed the cap, and long auburn locks spread around the girl's face.

The shock lasted for a mere second, and then Joly's hands started to treat the wound. Luckily, bandages were wrapped tightly enough to slow the bullet, but he- _she_ has already lost too much blood. Everyone else just stood there, too shocked for words.

Enjolras entered the room. He was revealed to see that almost everyone was here, alive and well. But their expressions were somehow _strange._

'Where are Grantaire and Marius?', he asked in horror, realizing.

'Calm down, Grant was wounded. Pretty seriously, though, but he will live. And Marius is with Bahorel.', Joly replied through his clenched teeth, desperately trying to save the girl's life.

_Wait_...

'Joly, who is...'

His eyes were examining the auburn waterfall that bounded girl's face.

A realization struck him like a lightning bolt.

That time, he didn't let Joly examine him. He never removed his cap.

_His unusual name._

_His skinny appearance._

_His almond-shaped eyes._

It was so _obvious_. And yet...

'Is Eponine going to live? _Save her_, Joly, _save my sister_, _I beg of you_!', Gavroche pleaded, tears still streaming down his face.

For the second time in his life, Enjolras was left speechless.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I am so, so sorry! I know that this update took long, but school kept me busy and, on top of that, I had a complete creative block! Couldn't write, couldn't play...so, I kinda based Enjolras' character in this one on myself. Though I'm not **_**that **_**depressed :P And yeah, even though it may seem like Enjolras is already feeling something for Eponine (in a romantic way, of course), he certainly**_** is not**_**! That would be too easy, wouldn't it?**

**P.S. The part of Eponine's monologue is borrowed from a song that is very dear to me, **_**You Take My Breath Away**_

* * *

11. _You Take My Breath Away_

* * *

The darkness caressed the man sitting in front of piano.

With shaking hands, he tried to get himself to play. A slender finger pressed the key, and a shivering tone broke the heavy silence, vibrating through the space.

And then, it faded away.

The man was not able to play anymore. He was like a broken string puppet, left there to rot without purpose. Unmoving and empty.

He couldn't hear the music.

Another tone echoed through the room, quieter, just a ghost of the previous one.

And all the man could hear was a gunshot.

* * *

'She will live', Joly proclaimed, sweeping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, 'but we should move her to some place more...hygienic. Enjolras?'

He liked to think that he is a good observer. That he can read people as easy as his political books.

He also liked to think that he is a good friend.

So, why is it, then, that this one person managed to crash all of that within a single moment?

His whole world is falling apart and he can only stand on the edge and watch it happen.

'_Enjolras_!'

He raised his head only to see that everyone, except little Gavroche who was sleeping soundly in Courfeyrac's lap, trails of tears still visible on his face, was looking expectantly at him.

'Your place is the nearest, is it alright to move her there?' Joly asked, worriedly examining his friend's pale face.

'What? Oh, right, right, of course', Enjolras replied. Courfeyrac and Combeferre exchanged looks. He took this entire 'Shady thing' quite badly.

'Look Enj, it's not like this is your fault, you know', Ferre said to a man, trying to reassure him. 'She took the bullet for Marius, it was her own choice.'

'Wait, she did _what_?!' Prouvaire gasped at the words. Enjolras frowned, deep in thoughts.

'Just think about it for a second. Why did we start to call her "Marius' shadow" in the first place? And on top of that, she continuously delivered letters for him, never asking for anything in return. She _must_ be in love with him so deeply that she was even prepared to die in his place.'

'It makes sense', Enjolras replied, a heavy weight lifting from his shoulders.

It was her choice.

_But Marius was in danger because of you. _

The thought crept into his mind, feeding with his remorse.

_She was on the verge of death because of you. Every pained sigh out there, every tear, every wound...everything is your fault. And it was all for nothing. _

'Would you care to help us?' Joly hissed at him while carefully lifting the limp body, earning a warning glance from Combeferre.

'Be easy on him, he's going through hell right now', he whispered to a young doctor.

'We all are', Joly replied. He was completely worn out and unable to control his words, but a sight of Enjolras' hunched, hopeless figure softened the hard lines around his mouth.

'Enj?'

He stood up at the sound and gently took a small light figure in his hands, not letting the others help him. This was the least he could do.

Ten minutes later, Eponine was carefully put on Enjolras' bed.

* * *

When Gavroche finally woke up, he had no idea just where he was. His back ached, probably the fault of his crumbled sleeping position on the red sofa. He stretched himself like a cat and, equally silent, started to sneak around the apartment.

'Finally awake, I see'

Gavroche snapped his head at the words.

'Gosh Courf, it's just you', a small blonde sighed. 'Where's Ep? Is she 'lright? Take me to 'er!'

'Calm down boy, she is alive and well, for the time being...You should probably ask Enjolras if you can see her, I'm afraid I cannot help you here', a man replied, ruffling the boy's already messy hair.

'She's my sis, why should I ask him if I can see 'er.' Gavroche pouted.

'She is in my room. Come with me.' Enjolras appeared at the door, along with other members of Les Mis.

'Why's she in your room, M'sieour? Why not the hospital?', the boy frowned, glaring at a tall man who walked beside him.

Enjolras felt a corner of his mouth twitching upward. The boy was smart, much like his sister.

'My place was closer. We couldn't take the risk of travelling while her wounds are still fresh.'

It seemed like his words satisfied the boy. Enjolras opened the door that led to his room, and Gavroche froze on the spot.

'She looks like a ghost. Is- is she really alive?' he whispered, tears filling his baby blue eyes.

Enjolras was tormented by the sight of a trembling boy. He didn't know what to do; he was never as good with children as Courfeyrac. Much to his relief, Gavroche angrily wiped his tears and rushed to Eponine's side, taking her hand into his small one.

Enjolras left the room. It was too much for him to handle.

* * *

_Two days after the revolution_

Loud knocking interrupted the conversation between Les Amis, who were gathered around the table in Enjolras' kitchen. He stood up and headed to the door.

'Identify yourself', he demanded.

'Goddamnit Marble, just open up already! I'm not really able to stand, the ground is shaaaaaaaaking!'

Enjolras quickly opened, and the drunkard almost fell through the door. How he regained balance with one arm plastered and the other one holding a bottle, remains a mystery.

_'Are you mad_?! You've got a serious concussion, you should be resting!', Joly shouted at the man, appearing besides him.

Grantaire blinked. 'And when the hell did you appear?'

The others watched as the rage distorted Joly's usually benevolent face. You could survive the barricade, but you couldn't survive Joly's wrath.

'What's that in your hand?' Venom dripping from his lips.

'Geez Joly, and you call yourself a doctor? It's a medicine, of course!', Grantaire winked, a large grin spreading across his bruised face.

Bahorel sighed. The drunkard was digging his own grave.

'ARE YOU COMPLETELY OUT OF YOUR MIND?! YOU JUST-'

_'Shhhhhh_! You will wake her!', Gavroche hissed, glaring at Joly. Rage left him instantly. How was he supposed to say to this little boy that his sister might not ever wake up?

'_Waaaaait a minute_. Are you -_hiccup_- saying there's a girl in Enjolras' bedroom?' Grantaire gasped, moving his healthy hand to cover his heart, mimicking the utmost shock. He rushed by Gavroche with an envious speed for someone whose veins were pumped with wine instead of blood. Seconds later, he returned to the kitchen, pale as death itself.

'I solemnly swear that I will stop drinking', he said, once again putting his hand over his heart.

Disbelief was written on every face in the room.

'Grant, you should've listen to Joly and rest, you obviously aren't well', Bahorel said, watching his friend like he expects him to drop dead at that very spot.

'I never thought that I would say this but- _I'm too drunk_. I entered Enjolras' room and saw Shady...but he had a long hair a-a-and he looked like..._like a girl_! _I'm so drunk that I started imagining things!_', Grantaire cried. Other men exchanged looks.

'You know, Grant', Prouvaire started with a wry smile. 'I never thought that I would say this, _but-_ it's not alcohol's fault this time. Shady _is_ a girl.'

The man looked completely stunned.

'And there I was, ready to give up my precious bottle! Though _that scene_ finally makes sense now...', he finished, deeply in thoughts. 'Gavroche? Come 'ere for a sec. Tell me, did Shady ever tell you why she joined Les Amis?'

Enjolras frowned. What was Grantaire doing?

Gavroche jumped in Courfeyrac's lap, who was already pretty much used to it. His five sisters always made him thought of how nice would it be to have a younger brother.

'To tell ya the truth, she never spoke about it. Though she mentioned some boy once...'

Grantaire smiled.

'Yes, that time at the barricade... it all makes sense now', he muttered to himself.

'What makes sense?', Prouvaire asked curiously.

'What? Oh nothing, nothing. Just something I overheard at the barricade', he winked mischeviously.

'This is not fair! You have to tell us now!', Combeferre pleaded. Everyone except Enjolras, who was in his own world, looked expectantly at Grantaire.

'Nope!', he replied. 'It's my and Shady's little secret!'

One by one, his friends left. 'I'll take him to my place', Courfeyrac whispered to Enjolras, lifting the sleepy Gavroche from the sofa. He nodded.

'Call me as soon as she wakes. Day or night.', Joly said, reassuringly stroking his shoulder. He nodded again.

Soon, he was alone. Moonlight falling through the window, illuminating the crimson wall covered with plans of a failed revolution. The colour wrapped around his neck, choking him, words like 'liberty' and 'equality' piercing his heart. In an outburst of rage, he teared everything from that wall of shame down, stopping only when the bare colour was left.

Nothing changed. He was still like an empty, lifeless shell.

His steps were grave as he walked to the piano. Music was the only thing left for him to cling onto, everything else became dust under his fingertips.

A shivering tone broke the silence, resonating through the space. His hands froze.

He couldn't play anymore. Music fell silent.

Suddenly, from the top of the pitch-black hole of sorrow that Enjolras was in, a sound could be heard. Deliriously, he followed the sound that led him to his room. There was a girl, lying unconsciously on his bed, auburn hair scattered around her peaceful face. A sigh escaped her half-parted lips.

_Is it possible? Is it possible that she is...that she will...?_

_Maybe she won't be a part of his atonement?_

* * *

Everything was black and silent.

Is this how hell looks like? Eponine always imagined it to be terrifying, but this...this was far more than that.

Why was she alone?

The sound of breathing made her jump in fear.

'Parnasse? Is that you? Stop it, this isn't funny!'

No response.

She tried to walk, she tried to run, but wherever she went, everything remained the same. Black and silent. She couldn't even hear the sound of her own footsteps.

'_Eponine_'

A sudden light blinded her. She knew this voice, she would recognize it anywhere.

'Enjolras? Where are you? I-I'm...I'm scared', she whispered.

The feeling was too real.

She saw his tall figure among the blackness, his back facing her. She tried to catch up with him, but the distance remained the same no matter how fast she ran.

'Wait for me! Stop!'

...

'Please'

He stopped, like he was waiting for her to say something.

Her heart was beating at unimaginable speed as the words rolled from her lips like pearls.

'Look into my eyes!'

Painfully slow, he started to turn.

'Look into my eyes and...you'll see', she continued in a soft voice.

'You've captured my love, stolen my heart. Changed my life.' She couldn't stop the words that were flowing from somewhere deep inside of her.

'Every time you make a move, you destroy my mind. You can reduce me to tears with a single sigh', her eyes pleaded, her lips whispering the words like a frantic prayer.

'So please, don't go', she whispered. 'Don't leave me here all by myself!'

And just as he finally turned around, a bright white light blinded her once again.

_And she could hear..._

* * *

Enjolras was playing. His eyes shut tightly as his fingers danced on keys, barely touching them. A melody of Chopin's Nocturne muted the sound of gunshots.

And Eponine's eyelids fluttered.

* * *

**A/N: Oooookay, maybe this was a bit too fluffy after all.**

_**Claimer: I own everything. My dear friend Hugo left it to me in his will. Sadly, it dissapeared, so I can't prove it.**_


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Again, I am so sorry for the delay with the chapter! The writer's block just didn't want to go away, and my attempt to overcome it ended with an epic fail :( Thank you for sticking with the story! Also, I made slight changes to the previous chapters, nothing grand, but they have names now :)**

* * *

_12. The Miracle_

* * *

He is playing her song, and the darkness that surrounded her a second ago – _or was it hours, days, years? For how long was she drowning in that darkness? _– disappeared. It was replaced by a heating pain in her chest that burned her flesh with a ravishing force; a bone-crushing feeling caused her to scream in pain. Blood tainted the bandage, lazily spreading over the white fabric as her hands clutched at the sheets soaked in sweat, in desperate need of something to hold onto. Pain was washing over her like a wave of troubled water, and she was drowning, ragged breaths escaping her lips.

* * *

Enjolras' playing was abruptly stopped with a dreadful scream coming from his room. He ran to the door, opening it with a loud whack, and his eyes fell on the crumpled figure of a girl covered in blood and sweat. Her gaze was almost bestial as she bit her lips till they bled, to prevent another scream. But Enjolras was calmed and composed as he gently pushed her down, locking her thin wrists with his slender fingers to prevent her from hurting herself more.

As if his touch eased her pain, Eponine relaxed beneath his firm grip, a storm in her eyes fading away as her gaze met with his cold sapphire one. She still felt as though as her chest was on fire, but she captured the pain deep inside, not wanting to show any more weakness.

Not in front of the Marble Man.

The man in question warily removed his arms off her.

'Your wound reopened. I'll go get Joly, just try to stay still until I'm back. The neighbour will be here to keep an eye on you.'

She nodded in response, and he left without a second glance. Did she imagine a blank expression on his carved face?

* * *

Enjolras knocked on the old wooden door, impatiently tapping with his foot while waiting for a response. A red-headed girl opened up, cursing the whole human race for being _so damn annoying_.

'What do you want, Blondie? Coffee is currently not available since my workplace got thoroughly _redecorated_. Seems like pretty words don't stop bullets so efficiently after all', she remarked through tightened lips. A sting of shame and pain pierced Enjolras at the words, but there were much more important issues to deal with than to feel sorry for himself. He will deal with his grave of sorrow afterwards.

'Musichetta, it's urgent. There is a girl with severe injury in my apartment, I need to get Joly to examine her. Can you watch over her until I get back? Please?'

The redhead looked stunned. The man who was known to feel no emotions was begging for her help?

It was not love nor passion that cracked the marble. It was a need for redemption from this hell he has thrown himself into, every rebellious word pushing him deeper in flames that threatened to swallow him whole.

She regretted her words as her eyes observed the broken pieces of a man who wanted to make the world a better place.

And the world slapped him in straight in the face with all its might.

She snatched the keys from his hand and entered the apartment, muttering in anger about a smashed café. Enjolras quietly sighed. His steps quickened as he left to find Joly.

* * *

'Oh my dear, you look awful, just awful!'

Musichetta had a judging look on her heart-shaped face. She assumed that Blondie had no idea how to deal with women, even less a wounded one, but this was too much. The poor child was covered in blood and sweat, for God's sake!

Eponine didn't even look at the red-headed girl, eyes tightly shut as she clenched the sides of her hands with a brute force, nails digging into skin and causing little ruby droplets to appear.

Musichetta frowned._ Beating pain with more pain?_ That won't work.

She stepped out of the room, returning with a few unnamed bottles, clean bandages and a wet towel. Eponine winced as the towel reached her forehead, trying to get as far as possible from the petite woman who frowned at the unexpected movement.

Survival instinct was still imprinted in Eponine's mind. Some habits die hard, especially if you have lived half of your life as a street urchin.

'I won't hurt you, dear. Now, be a good girl and let me help you!'

_What is wrong with this woman?_ She could be only two or three years older than Eponine, and yet she was acting like a mother who had to deal with an overly stubborn child. Still, she didn't fight when a towel brushed against her heated skin. She finally decided to properly look at her 'nurse', who was now busy changing her bandages with fast, knowing movements. Wasn't this the waitress from Musain? Eponine's head was pulsing with pain, blurring her thoughts. Bitter liquid that Musichetta made her drink soon pushed her into deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Joly's apartment was just two blocks away, but that quick walk helped Enjolras clear his thoughts. He was relieved to see that the girl finally woke up, but now, after that primal feeling disappeared, all he could feel was _irritation_. Anger, even.

She manipulated him into thinking that she is a boy, a friend. And he believed her. He even told her his story, something known only to a few. She deceived him into thinking that she actually cares for their cause, when she was just pitifully chasing after Marius.

She was all that he hated in women. Silly and in love. Probably sighing at the thought of romance and other irrelevant things.

And he owed her his life.

_She took a bullet for Marius, saving you in the process. _

_You endangered him. You endangered her. She could have died because of you._

_ But she lives. And you do not have the privilege to have a hurt pride. Not after what you've done. She lives, and it's a gift._

_ A miracle._

Explanations can wait.

* * *

'Joly, she's awake, her wound reopened', he said before Joly even managed to open the door wide enough to see who's knocking.

_'Caution was never his strongest suit'_, Enjolras thought to himself, noting that the medical student didn't even asked for a name before he opened the door.

'I'll be ready for a moment, just let me grab a few things.'

He returned a minute later with black briefcase in one, and a coat in other hand.

'We need to hurry, she might tear the bandages off'

* * *

You can imagine the look on Joly's face when he entered the room and saw freshly bandaged Eponine in a deep sleep, her chest slowly rising and falling, and a familiar red-headed girl sitting comfortably next to her with a cup of coffee.

'Whoa, you're fast. She just fell asleep', Musichetta remarked.

'Where did you get these medications?', Joly managed to choke the words out pointing on bottles that innocently stood on a nightstand.

'Good day to you too, Monsieur Joly', she replied, slightly annoyed. 'Never seen a girl who's capable of caring for wounded in your rich school? Oh right, _women_ cannot be doctors.' A word was said as a curse.

'We are fighting to make it happen. _Were _fighting_'_, he softly replied, a sad smile lingering on his lips. Enjolras shuddered.

Again, she regretted her words.

'My father was a doctor, he taught me everything that I know. The medications are also his', she explained.

Joly nodded. He came closer to examine the wounded girl, but everything seemed alright. Musichetta's father taught her well.

'Just let her rest for the time being and she should be fine... Enjolras?'

His friend's gaze seemed empty. Joly knew that the sight of a wounded girl made him relive memories of a failed revolution.

And it tore him from the inside.

The fearless leader Joly once knew stood broken before him, living a nightmare with his eyes wide open, and he didn't know how to help him. Will he ever learn to live with this burden?

Musichetta quietly left the apartment, closely followed by Joly. There was nothing they could do there anymore.

A broken statue could only be fixed by its creator.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: SOOOOOOOOOOORRY! Though I do have a good reason for such a gap between chapters, since this was my last year of high school, and yeah, a bunch of exams almost strangled me. Not to mention stressing about colleges. God, it's actually a decision about the rest of my _life! _And it terrified me endlessly! But yeah, it's all done now, and I should stop blabbering about myself already :) Promise that the next chapter will be longer!  
**

**P.S. Thank you for favoriting, following, and, especially, commenting! It means so much to me!**

* * *

13. _Don't lose your head_

* * *

The pain withered almost completely by the time Eponine woke up; only a lingering feeling of discomfort and tightness remained.

Which was strange.

In Eponine's experience, heavy wounds do not heal that quickly . Also, she's feeling somehow drowsy and lethargic...

'_Merde_! What did you give me?!'

In Eponine's experience, anything that makes you drowsy and lethargic is _not_ a good thing, especially if you're used to living on the streets.

'A medication. It is supposed to make you feel better. Unless you are a concealed masochist who enjoys that special, irreplaceable feeling of a ripped flesh.'

She had no idea what masochist means, but she was familiar enough with Enjolras' voice. And sarcasm. It couldn't mean anything good.

'Where is...'

'Musichetta went home, evidently', Enjolras stated, irritation clear in his voice.

'Why am I h-'

'The location of my home was convenient for your transportation.' Another irritated remark.

Eponine was confused. Never before did Enjolras act like that towards her.

Oh.

_Right_.

He never acted like that towards _Ponine_.

In a tense silence, Eponine's eyes were searching the face of a man sitting in a corner of the room. But nothing indicated that he was bothered by her or her presence. Actually, his face indicated nothing at all. Behind his glass gaze, fixated on some spot on the wall, was emptiness, facial expression like the one Claquesous used to have while playing cards with her father. Pure nothingness.

'Let me explain why...'

'I do not wish to hear it right now'

'But please, just-'

'Mademoiselle, lay down and rest, you need to regain your strength.'

Cold and dark. She could tell that he just wanted her to stop talking. Her heart clenched with pain.

And anger.

Boiling, erupting _anger_ that she last felt when her father hit Gavroche for the first time, was now flowing through her veins, consuming her, igniting her bones.

She gave him everything she had. She was ready to lay her life for him.

And he couldn't get past that _one_ lie that kept her alive on the filthy streets of Paris .Couldn't even let her explain properly.

Oh _no_, she wasn't _angry_.

She was Eponine Thenardier, a street rat, abused by her own family, forced to steal and beg, forced to live a life where words like 'good' and 'fair' did not exist.

Yes, she was Eponine Thenardier.

And she was furious.

* * *

Enjoras really didn't think this one through.

He was always quite composed, proud of his capability to let the words easily slip from his tongue with cold objectivity, never showing a darker side that was hidden _oh-so-well_ beneath the marble skin. Indeed, that side existed and was now screaming to be released.

Usually, when that was the case, he would chain it with music.

Sometimes, he would let it slip, like that time when Shady -_Eponine_- ended up imprisoned.

Rarely, it would creep into his words and wrapped around them like a fog embracing the graveyard.

Like it did now.

Demons of the past united with a guilty conscience and broke free.

These demons needed to turn onto someone other than himself.

And this petite little girl, with her little white lies, was a perfect prey.

Until the prey suddenly became the hunter.

* * *

Silence, thicker than walls that surrounded them, was broken by a gentle voice. Clear, sweet voice, barely a whisper.

_'Mademoiselle.'_

Sweet, sweet, _poisonous_ voice.

'What a gentleman, calling this _poor, filthy_ gamine a _mademoiselle_. Surely, I do not deserve to be entitled with it. A lying puppet master like me. A _woman_. Maybe even a whore, what would you know, who dared to shield herself with a man outfit.

Really, how _dare_ she!

How _dare_ she lie to everyone just to spare her unworthy life of a savage destiny that lurks from every corner?

How _dare_ she lie to everyone just to be able to attend secret meetings that are _supposed_ to bring equality to the world, but reserved only for _men_?

How _dare_ she deceive a _man_.

Just imagine that, a great leader wrapped in lies cast by a powerless woman, who doesn't have the strength to change the world. Hurt y'r pride a bit, didn't it? Because it is _not_ supposed to be like that.

_No_, ladies, leave the job to the _capable_ ones. Leave it to _men_. _They_ will fight for equality for you. _They_ will speak for you, because _you_ don't own a voice.

But guess what, _monsieur_?

You've failed.

Do not worry, though. The pain that you've brought upon us is great enough to concentrate solely on it and ignore your failure. And _you_, you just GAVE UP after it, what a _strong, confident_ male! I can see it in your eyes; you just decided to drown yourself in a pool of pity, instead of going back to your studies and trying to atone for this failure! _Je vous félicite_.*'

Eponine was flushed red, voice rising with every sentence until she began to shout.

She knew, deep inside, that she was too harsh and that she will regret it later, when her heart clouds her mind once again.

But she needed to say this as much as Enjolras needed to hear it.

Because, even though that every word ripped his heart like a sharp claw, he needed this.

He needed to hear his guilt transformed into words, if he ever wanted to let go of it.

He needed the pain to be brought back to life.

Because, for the past few days, Enjolras had become an empty shell of a man, damned to see the constant pity in his friends' eyes, and the accusations that silently followed him on the streets, never spoken, just glared.

He needed the pain that only words could bring.

Talking about masochism.

* * *

And there it was.

A spark.

In the beginning, it was only a tingling flicker.

Then, suddenly, cerulean eyes burst with something unknown (_was it **hope**?_) and, like a close thunder, it was fiery and passionate and _real_.

Those burning eyes stood in such a contradiction to the sparkling wet droplets gliding down the porcelain face that Eponine felt a sudden need to avert her eyes.

The sight was so immensely beautiful, it hurt.

She wasn't even aware that she was standing until her legs stopped supporting her, sending her flying towards the wooden floor. But she never touched it, knowing, beneath the closed eyes, that a certain man with cobalt-blue eyes had caught her.

And with that, everything in her mind fell into darkness once again.

* * *

***_I congratulate you_**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: We are slowly reaching the end of this story. Probably three or four chapters more. Happy reading! :)**

* * *

_14. Doing All Right_

* * *

Joly noticed.

_The Change_

It wasn't something grand, just a few quotes here and there, intonation of the voice.

A book left on the sofa, scrabbled papers on the desk.

* * *

Grantaire noticed, too.

There was that strange look Enjolras had on his face only while examining some especially puzzling problem; a furrowed brow, darkened eyes, tightly clasped lips. And a hand, let's not forget a hand that would unconsciously run through golden locks.

_The Look_, as he liked to call it, was now pointed towards the door that led to Enjolras' bedroom, which was currently occupied by - it still sounded so strange in Grantaire's fuzzy, drunk mind- a _girl_. Young, living, breathing _girl_.

Which was strange enough even without _The Look_.

The aforementioned girl must have done something to earn this much attention from the leader, and Grant was dying to find out _what_. Especially since it affected Enjolras enough to go back to his political studies.

Maybe, just maybe...he _noticed_.

* * *

Maybe Prouvaire looked like he lived in his own little world for most of the time, but he also noticed.

The problem was, he just _couldn't put a finger on it_.

And it irritated him endlessly.

Prouvaire, as a poet, was usually good at reading various sentiments that lay beneath people's glances, but there was that -that _something_ in Enjolras' eyes, and he just _couldn't put a finger on it_.

Which, once again, irritated him endlessly.

But let's get back to the night when _The Change_ happened.

* * *

'For God's sake, Enj, why would she be standing in the first place?!'

'As I already stated, she was trying to get out of the bed. Calm down Joly.'

'But _why_-'

'Will you examine her or not? If the latter, I can always call Musichetta.'

Joly huffed.

'It's nothing serious, just a lack of energy and strength caused by a blood loss. Her body is still not ready for greater exertions. Please, _do_ try to stop her the next time she tries to do something stupid!'

'Noted.'

Joly eyed the man suspiciously. There was something off. He needed a second to notice that the dark shadows that made their home beneath Enjolras' ocean eyes were gone.

Strange.

But just when he attempted to ask something more, Eponine woke up, immediately pushing herself up against the pillows.

Joly almost screamed in frustration.

'Lay down this very moment or -may God be my witness- I will _tie_ you to that bed!'

And then another unusual thing happened.

Enjolras quietly laughed.

Strange indeed.

It seems like Eponine thought the same thing, since her eyes immediately flickered in his direction, widening at the sight. Then, she did as she was told, lying down while Joly did a final check-up of the wound.

Loud knocking broke the river of thoughts flowing through Joly's mind.

'Enjy, dear, mommy's home!', Grantaire yelled.

Enjolras hurried to the door in a failed attempt to keep Grant's mouth shut.

'ENJ-'

_'For God's sake_ keep your voice down, I'm coming right away!', he hissed. 'Did it ever occur to you that she might be sleeping?!'

Grantaire happily ignored him and ran/stumbled straight to Eponine, hugging her sloppily. Both men gaped at the unusual sight.

What they didn't see was Grantaire whispering something into girl's ear. Ascribing her wide eyes and colourless face to the blood loss.

* * *

The alarming words still echoed in Eponine's ears like wind chimes.

_'I know your secret.'_

* * *

'Darlings, can you leave us alone for a moment?', Grantaire asked in a sickening, sweet voice.

'Grant, what are you-'

'Joly, we just need to have a little chat. Promise not to disturb Shady's recovery with anything wicked', the man winked playfully.

Enjolras silently observed, eyes roaming from one man to another. Only his slightly clasped palms indicated the tension building inside.

'I'm not sure that this is-', Joly tried once again, this time cut off by Eponine.

'Just for a moment, please? I really appreciate all the things you've done for me but this is something that has to be resolved immediately. _Please_, Joly?', her hazel eyes pleading at the confused medical student.

He let out a helpless sigh and followed Enjolras who was already making his way through the door, seemingly uninterested in the subject matter. Grantaire waved at them groggily.

* * *

The drunken act was dismissed along with the closed door.

There was a moment of an awkward silence where Grantaire's eyes were searching Eponine's , trying to read her emotions. Unsuccessfuly. The mask was up once again.

Though, her voice slightly lingered at the spoken word.

'How?'

This silence that followed was more painful than the wound on her chest.

Why isn't he speaking?

She never thought of Grant as someone who would enjoy torturing people, so why is he letting her struggle like this? Why is he examining her with those clean, sober eyes?

Not knowing what to do, she repeated the word.

_'How?'_

Seconds later, he shrugged. 'Seen you on the barricade. Taking the bullet.'

Sharp intake of breath.

'He...'

'...thinks that you did it for Marius. As well as the others.' Sharp gaze still resting on her face.

'Good. That's... good', she whispered softly, tension disappearing from her features.

Grant looked taken aback by the words. 'The man that you love thinks you willingly sacrificed yourself for another? _How's that good_?!'

A sad smile appeared on her face.

'He was never supposed to find out anyway. This just makes things easier for me. He won't suspect anything.'

'But he also won't be able to love you back!'

Eponine laughed bitterly. 'It's _Enjolras_ we're talking about! The man who's made out of marble. Not noticing any woman besides his Patria. From the start, it was never meant to be. Why complicate things by revealing my feelings?'

'Because _he deserves to know_!', Grantaire argued.

'No, he_ doesn't._', she replied sharply. 'It's my own burden, and I will continue to carry it without complaint. You should stay out of it.'

The look of genuine hurt crossed Grantaire's face. He shook his head.

'...Grant...', she began softly.

'No, you are right. I understand. But he has a heart too, you know. You saved his life giving up on your own, Eponine, your feelings are too strong to hide!'

'He _won't_ find out about it.' She kept her steel glance locked with Grantaire's eyes. He huffed.

'Promise me. Promise that you won't say a word to him!'

'Why do you have to be so _bloody_ _stubborn_?!'

_'Promise!'_

Grantaire let out a long sigh before answering. 'You know I wouldn't say, Shady.'

For the first time since the rebellion, a smile reached Eponine's eyes.

* * *

Grantaire left soon after, Joly too.

Once again, it was just her and Enjolras.

She expected him to yell. To toss, to break something. Maybe even hit her.

Nothing happened.

He sat in the corner with a book in his hands, titled _Politics of modern France_.

She flushed.

He smiled.

She responded.

He nodded.

She understood.

He did, too.

* * *

Everything went back to normal. Except, it didn't.

Cafe Musain got renovated.

Students continued to hold meetings.

Enjolras got back to his studies.

Grantaire got back to his drinking.

Eponine got back to being a shadow.

* * *

Everything seemed the same. Except, it wasn't.

Joly and Musichetta shared glances.

Marius got engaged to Cosette.

Combeferre had a scar over his left cheek.

Prouvaire stopped writing poetry.

Enjolras stopped stirring the crowd.

* * *

Instead, he started to bound with people of the streets.

He started to make small changes.

To notice things.

To notice people.

Enjolras started to _notice_.

Not Shady.

Not Ponine.

Enjolras started to notice _her_.

To notice _Eponine_.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, this chapter is full of repetitions (damn it, I really like those! They give that special note of importance to everything! Though I _do _use them too much) and slightly blurry, didn't go minutely ****into **** descriptions of situations and conversations, hope it was understandable nonetheless!**

**Am immensely grateful to all af you who read/favorited/followed/commented! Means so, so much!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: So, this is basically a filler chapter. A really strange, really short and really filler chapter that mostly has no sense and no solid connection to the plot. The plan was to write a proper chapter, but somehow, this _thingy_ below kept popping in my head. In conclusion, I'm sorry about this, and if you have any questions feel free to ask them. And again, loooots of repetitions. I should really stop use them in such an amount. Damn.**

* * *

_15. Put Out The Fire_

* * *

He had never dreamed before.

Nightmares appeared quite often, though, sneaking into his mind like a silent lover under the cloth of a starry night.

But dreams?

Never before.

The first one began...

* * *

_...began with a silent humming._ The melody seemed familiar; silent, gentle, welcoming.

Have you ever heard a melody that made you feel like home? Well, this one was just like that.

The warm feeling that spreads over your body after seeing a lazy flame tingling inside the fireplace on a winter night.

He knew the melody well.

Although, if you asked him to name it, he wouldn't be able to. It was there, in his mind, tingling like that flame in the fireplace, but at the same time, it _wasn't_.

That doesn't make sense at all to him, it bothers him. It wasn't logical, alright.

And he was. Logical, I mean. To the very core.

It was the only thing in this world that he could hold onto. Cold, senseless logic. And this melody was illogical. Hell, this whole dream was! Why is he even over thinking this if it's all just a dream?

* * *

Right.

The melody.

It came closer.

For a logical person like himself, it took him quite some time to decipher that somewhere out there _must_ be a source of the music filling his ears. Even though this was just a dream (_and it was, really_), he could feel a blush of embarrassment creeping its a way to his face.

_Closer_.

He could hear the clear, harp-sounding notes dripping slowly like honey (_why does this sound so contradictory to him?_)

_Closer__._

Rich, husky tone with just a right amount of vibrato (_reminding him of musky plants and mahogany trees and dark chocolate (?)_ )

_Closer_.

The music was now overwhelming all of his senses, accompanied by the sight of a slender figure rising from the shadows (_it seemed familiar, but he couldn't be bothered, there was this, -this __**music**__, you see_)

_Closer_.

Wavy auburn hair, sunlight turning it into rippled sea crushing into nonexistent shore.

_Closer_.

He could feel his heart beating wildly inside his chest.

_**Closer**_.

The figure started to turn, melody stronger than ever before.

_**Closer**_.

He could see the soft curve of a nose and moving lips.

_**Closer**__._

Long, silky lashes caressing sun-kissed skin.

_**Closer**_.

The figure was still turning, painfully slow, and his mind was screaming _closer_, _closer, closer_...

...melody becoming harsh...

_closer, closer, closer_

...ringing in his ears...

_closer, closer, __**closer**__!_

* * *

Raging thunder screamed over the city of Paris as the man stood up in his bed, covered in sweat despite the cold wind loudly stammering the window pane.

The melody still playing in his head, not nameless anymore.

The dream, nearly forgotten, kept tingling in the back of his mind.

_Like a flame tingling inside the fireplace on a winter night._

* * *

**A/N: If you managed to read this and get something out of it,I THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart!**

**Also, thank you so much for reading/following/ favoriting, and for all those lovely, lovely reviews!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Thank you for reading/following/favorites and reviews!  
**

**P.S. Never been good at writing poetry (even less in English), but I've tried, really!**

* * *

_16. Is This The World We Created?_

* * *

'Should we...'

'We probably should. But you know how he gets if someone interrupts him in the middle of work.'

'But this has been going on for _ages_ Courf, he should at least eat something! _Proper_ food, for a change!', Combeferre snapped.

'Easy there. If we push him too hard, we risk getting him furious. And believe me, you don't want to see a furious Enjolras. Just ask Grant', Courfeyrac smirked, glancing sideways to the aforementioned drunkard. Ferre raised his eyebrows, waiting for a further explanation. When he didn't get one, he proceeded to a place on the floor where Grantaire was, singing off-tune serenades to Musichetta and trying (unsuccessfully) to convince her that he's sober enough for another while our dear Grant was busy comparing Chetta's hair with the colour of a summer wine, Joly's eyes were throwing daggers at him.

Musichetta noticed, light smirk playing on her lips. Grantaire didn't, though, eyes still plastered on a green bottle.

Ferre tried talking to him, he really did, but the man had eyes only for that emerald-green bottle. So, he bought one (_you can't blame him, he **really** wanted to hear the story about their_ -always so composed- _leader going crazy_) and handed it to the drunkard while guiltily ignoring Chetta's glare.

'Grant...', he started, eyeing the man who was currently joyously kissing the wine bottle, 'I've heard that you've experienced Enjolras' wrath once before. Care to tell?'

Grant stopped with his affections towards the bottle, frowning. 'Please don't tell me that you plan on doing something about Enj's _'study 'till you wither'_ plan. He just went back to his studies and is _pretty_ touchy about it', he took a sip, 'And you value your life, I presume.'

Ferre sighed heavily. 'Just tell me already.'

Grantaire smirked in delight. He always liked the attention.

'Well, let's just say that he once had an important exam, and I was _a little bit_ drunk...and decided to mix up his scripts...my nose still hurts when I remember', he laughed, touching his once broken nose. 'He also broke every object situated near him. Not on my body, luckily. Although, when his rage finally faded away, he kept apologising over and over again. Ah, those were the days.' Grantaire smiled fondly at the memory.

'Oh close that mouth of yours, _mon_ _ami_, your jaw is almost touching the floor!', he added, laughing loudly at the disbelieving expression on Combeferre's face.

'So Ferre, will you be the one telling Enjolras that he has to take a break from studying?' Courfeyrac joined the two with a playful smirk. Combeferre frantically shook his head, wincing at the sharp _'Could you please keep the noise down?! I'm trying to study over here!'_ coming from Enjolras, whose golden curls were almost completely hidden behind a large pile of books. Grantaire just laughed it off, taking another sip.

* * *

The night was slowly approaching, and Enjolras was still bent over some heavy law-book, when Grantaire decided that enough is enough. He stood up, his knees still wobbly from the great amount of alcohol he absorbed, and headed towards the table where Enjolras was.

'My friend, you've been leaving your life between those pages for two full weeks already. Tell me, what is the problem?'

Enjolras sighed. 'It's nothing.'

'If you don't sleep or eat properly for such a long time, _something_ is obviously wrong.' Grantaire stated.

Enjolras sighed again.

'I'm supposed to hand over an essay about social differences between classes by the end of the month, but my brain just keeps wandering around, and I can't write even one coherent sentence. It drives me crazy. And, on top of everything, I keep having these strange dreams.', Enjolras tiredly replied, burying his long fingers in his hair.

'Dreams?'

'It's a long story. The thing is, I should be more than capable of writing about this. At least I was the one who had spent his whole life observing and fighting for equality between classes. You would assume that this would be easy for me!', he huffed.

Grantaire didn't answer, deep in his thoughts. You could almost see the gears turning inside his head as he worked his way through the alcoholic haze. A moment later, his eyes started to sparkle with mischief.

'What you need, my dear friend, is a different perspective. You should go and observe the object of your interest from up close, interact and make a conclusion based on it.'

Enjolras stared at him, patiently waiting for him to make a point.

Grant smirked. A full, wide, teeth showing grin that almost split his face in two.

'In other words, you need Shady.'

* * *

'Jehan, I need your help.'

Prouvaire lifted his eyes from the poetry book he was reading, examining Grantaire's face with a slightest hint of interest on his, lately, strangely dispassionate face. Grant called him 'Jehan' only if he needed him for some important matter.

'Yes?', he sighed, closing the book.

'I need you to write something for me. A simple poem would be lovely.'

Prouvaire laughed. 'Grant, I've written countless poems about your love for wine before, why would you want another one? Or is it for some unlucky mademoiselle that captured your drunken heart?'

'No, _no_, you got it all wrong! I need you to write a poem for Enjolras!'

Prouvaire gaped at him. 'I didn't know the wind blows that way for you Grant. You could've told me earlier! I thought we were friends!'

'Oh for the love of God, _will you just let me finish_?! I do _not_ fancy Enjolras! I just need to change his opinion about something, and since I know how stubborn he is, I wanted to try a different approach. Also, a lovely mademoiselle who will deliver it to him is a part of my evil-genius plan', Grantaire explained.

'Care to share your plan?', was Prouvaire's sarcastic reply.

So Grantaire told him everything about his talk with Enjolras and how he'd been continuously refusing the idea of Eponine showing him around Paris' slums.

He also told him something he wasn't supposed to. Something he promised not to. But he had to, for the sake of the plan. It was a necessary sacrifice.

So you can imagine his reaction when Prouvaire informed him that he won't help him.

On the second thought, let's not leave that part to imagination.

'You- you _WHAT_?! AFTER ALL THE THINGS I SAID TO YOU, YOUR REPLY IS _'Thank_ _you for telling me all of this, it's indeed interesting, but _no_.'_ ARE YOU JOKING?!'

'I cannot do it, I am sorry. Please stop screaming at me, Grant.'

'HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO STOP SCREAMING AFTER WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME?! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?! _WHY_?!'

'I am not writing anymore.'

Grantaire was left speechless, his mouth opening and closing like the mouth of a fish thrown on the shore by waves. When he regained the ability of producing sound, Grant's ingenious reply was: ' _What_?'

'As I said, I stopped writing. And I have no desire to continue in the near future.' Prouvaire stated.

'B-but why? Writing was _literally_ your whole life! Your biggest dream was to become a published poet!' Grantaire couldn't comprehend Prouvaire's sudden decision.

A flash of hurt crossed Prouvaire's eyes. Their pale blue colour darkened beneath his furrowed brows.

'What is the point?', he whispered, almost inaudibly. ' I can't see the beauty in this world anymore. Am I supposed to write about something else, about something that _lacks_ beauty? Maybe about the war? Death? Suffering?'

Prouvaire laughed, but it wasn't his usual happy laugh. This one was heavy and bitter, like a thick air after the storm. ' There is enough of evil and hate in this world. I don't need to stain the paper with more of it and make it permanent. The world does not need more proof of pain in its history. And that is all my eyes can see now. Pain and suffering.'

It made sense now.

Prouvaire was always the optimistic one. A hopeless romantic. A dreamer. The barricade affected him more than others since he always wore his heart on a sleeve. His belief in beauty of the human race was infinite, but the reality came, crushing his idealistic views in a most harsh way.

And Grantaire couldn't allow that.

So he grabbed him by the hand and literally dragged out of Musain. They passed through the many streets of Paris, not stopping for a single moment. Grantaire thoroughly ignored every strange glance that followed them on their way, as well as Prouvaire's constant whimpers, until they finally stopped at the outskirts of Paris.

'I've never walked this much in my entire _life_!', Prouvaire complained, lowering himself to sit on the emerald grass beneath his feet with a heavy sigh.

'Stop whining for a moment and tell me what you see.'

Prouvaire glanced around himself, unaffected.

'_Seine_, some old ratty bridge, a few trees and _not a living soul_ except the two lunatics who just ran over half of Paris to get here.'

Grantaire huffed. 'No, Jehan, tell me what you _see_. At least try!'

And he did.

Almost involuntarily, his eyes noticed the way the river folds around the worn wooden pillars of the bridge, a faint wind that plays within the treetops, making music only leaves can hear.

A small yellow flower next to his feet, so fragile yet strong enough to carry the weight of a bee collecting sweet nectar from its core.

Then he averted his eyes to the sky above, absorbing the mesmerizing view of cotton white clouds floating through the aquamarine sky where the sun shined in all its glory, covering the field and the river in sparkly golden dust.

He _saw_.

And it was beautiful.

* * *

Eponine had absolutely no idea why would Grantaire need _her_ to deliver the letter to Enjolras when he was living only two streets away. Actually, she had no idea why would he write him a letter in the first place. After all, he saw him every day at Musain, it shouldn't be too hard to tell him everything that he needed in person, or should it be?

But delivering letters was her job and she will do it as quickly and efficiently as ever.

And the fact that it would be her first time talking to Enjolras after leaving his apartment _won't_ occupy her mind, _won't_ affect her in any way.

It won't.

Really.

Nothing to affect here. Ab-so-lutely nothing.

So, after she successfully ran away from Grantaire (wasn't that hard; he was drunk) who was trying to pay her for the delivery (she would never take his money, not after everything he'd done for her), she made her way through the mass of people on the street, taking a shortcut that led her straight in front of the building where Enjolras lived.

And she did _not_ think about the way his piercing azure eyes would look at her, into her, through her.

Not in a million years.

Always fast on her feet, slightly hunched and impossibly quiet, like her father has taught her to be (and he taught her to become _The__ Shadow_), she passed the steps and appeared in front of his door.

Surely not thinking about his elegantly long and slender fingers on the ivory piano keys.

There was a quiet knock on the door, quiet as her whole presence.

There was waiting, which seemed to go on forever.

And there was a dark voice, answering to the knock.

'Identify yourself.'

Always the charmer.

'It's Shad- _Eponine_. I am here to deliver the letter to monsieur Enjolras'

A faint sound of the rustling chain could be heard and then, there was a face of a Greek God.

And her breath did _not_ disappear somewhere high into the mountain of Olimp.

It did not.

'Who is it from?'

'Grantaire, monsieur.'

He eyed her curiously.

'I thought we were past the titles, Eponine'

'We were, before _that_ night, _Enjolras_.'

The corner of his lips twitched upwards, despite the obvious sarcasm in her voice.

'You see, it's much better this way. Now, let's see what is our dear friend up to, shall we?', he said, holding the door open for her to come inside. Which she did, frowning slightly at the gesture. She didn't expect him to be so like his old self, like he was before the barricade.

When they were still some kind of friends.

While she was lost in her own thoughts, Enjolras already opened the letter. His eyes flashing through the words.

At the end of the letter, he was laughing whole-heartedly, and Eponine was completely startled (dazed) by it.

But she was even more startled by his words that came next.

'Eponine, would you give me the honour of enjoying your company while I'm getting to know the streets of Paris?'

And his tone wasn't mocking. It was sincere, as much as the look in his eyes while he spoke.

So who was Eponine to deny his request?

* * *

_Dear Enjolras_

_The streets of Paris, so full of light,_

_Become another world at night._

_A labyrinth of stone, _

_When the chatter is gone,_

_Is a poor man's home,_

_Under the starry dome._

_But don't you fret, there's this girl I once met,_

_Who knows her way around, without making a sound,_

_She will guide you, you won't get lost,_

_She is the girl (_we know_) whom you trust the most._

_She will teach you all you have to know,_

_About the places to see, and places to go._

_Penniless children, women and men,_

_She knows them all, so take your pen._

_Describe the life that she lived before,_

_On the white paper, it always means more._

**GRANTAIRE**

_**Shameless lie, it's Jehan!**_


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Another strange filler. I'm terrible, I know, but I realised that Enjolras' reaction on the letter needed to be explained. Thank you for reading/reviewing/following/favorites!**

* * *

_17. Dreamer's Ball_

* * *

_"Dreams surely are difficult, confusing, and not everything in them is brought to pass for mankind. For fleeting dreams have two gates: one is fashioned of horn and one of ivory. Those which pass through the one of sawn ivory are deceptive, bringing tidings which come to nought, but those which issue from the one of polished horn bring true results when a mortal sees them."_

_Homer, Odyssey_

_A few days before the letter_

Enjolras was serious and composed, cold and rational, stubborn and proud.

Still is.

**(Though, there is always a **_'but'_** hidden somewhere, lurking inconspicuous listeners who believed that everything needed to be said, had already been said (**_but_** it hadn't been)).**

_But_...

What he did not expect was a woman, who entered his life like a hurricane, sweeping everything in sight, every carefully stored hope, belief, _feeling_. And he was left there standing, bare.

He was all of that. Serious and composed, cold and rational, stubborn and proud.

Still is.

_But_...

Every hurricane leaves a trace, tension in the air, pressure in your ears, tremor in your heart, and this one was no exception.

The Change nested itself in the hollowed ground, and grew, spreading like a spider web.

Laugh invaded Seriousness.

Warmth heated up The Cold.

Pride and Stubbornness stayed, though, **_but_ **not so firm, so dominant like before.

Enjolras from **Before **would never even consider accepting someone's help.

Now, all that was needed for him to change his mind was one particularly vivid dream, a book opened on a right page in the right moment, and a silly poem.

And just a tiny little bit of Eponine.

* * *

_Echoing footsteps filled the hall. Lean, white Doric columns, countless in number, ended somewhere in darkness above his head. His own reflection followed him, trapped inside the floor paved in smooth black marble._

_Again, there was music._

_A profound sound of the piano wrapping around the pillars, around _him_, the piece that he knew so well. _

Nocturne in E-flat major

* * *

_The scene changed._

_He was now in a baroque ballroom, the music still playing even though there was no piano in sight. The ballroom seemed infinite in golden mirrors facing one another, a never-ending mass of ornaments, colours and chandeliers hanging from a ceiling painted with trompe-l'oeil frescoes._

_His gaze dropped as fabric softly rustled behind him._

_She was there, dressed in a deep red gown, spinning in circles, humming alongside the piano. The ceiling was gone and replaced with a velvet night sky._

_ Her spinning accelerated together with crescendo, moonlight in her skin, darkness in her hair, stars in her eyes, fire on her lips._

_She stopped just when the final chord faded, smiling mischievously. _

_Her hand was waiting for his, opened, inviting. _

* * *

_The scene changed._

_He was in the middle of an endless field full of flowers. Dew glistened beneath the rays of a raising sun, painting rainbows in every droplet._

_The music remained, and so did she._

_This time, though, dressed as a boy, with her hair beneath a cap and mud on her cheeks. _

_Her hand was still waiting for his._

_He accepted the invitation._

_His other hand had found home on the curve of her waist, hers rested lightly on his shoulder as they slowly danced to the music. Her cap fell off, freeing the dark locks that spilled like liquid onyx, framing her thin persona._

_Her gaze still held the stars, even in the morning sun.  
_

* * *

_For the third time, the scene changed._

_They were now on the streets of Paris._

_The music was gone._

_His hand was still in hers as they sneaked through the narrow streets, blending with shadows. The air smelled like sorrow and grief, and when she turned to look at him, her eyes were empty black and bottomless. _

_He was gripping her hand tightly, but she kept fading away._

_The wind swept over his hand, dusting the fine sand that leaked from his grip. _

* * *

He was tired and needed a cup of coffee. Desperately.

He got a cup of Grantaire instead.

'Did you change your mind? Will you ask Shady for help?'

_Will he ever give it up?_

'No.', Enjolras responded flatly.

_A fragment of the dream crept inside his mind._

'_No_.', he repeated, more to himself then to annoyed Grantaire.

'Stupid male pride!', he muttered, angrily pushing Enjolras out of his way.

Enjolras sighed, proceeding to get his coffee. A glimpse of gold caught his eye.

He would recognise that book anywhere.

_Mythologie grecque_

There was a piece of paper carefully placed as a bookmark, Eponine nowhere in sight, and curiosity got the better of him.

* * *

This was utterly ridiculous.

**M**

**Morpheus**

_"The God responsible for the dreams of people. When in the arms of Morpheus people would enjoy a sound sleep, but would also see a dream about their future or even coming events. Morpheus was the dream messenger of Gods, communicating the divine messages through images and stories, created as dreams."_

Ridiculous.

He laughed at himself, extracting a few confused glances from Feuilly and Bahorel. Is he really going to believe that there is a connection between his dreams, Grantaire's pleadings and a book? Is he starting to believe in something as ridiculous as _fate_?! What is next, an encounter with Moriae or bumping into some furies on the way home?

He needs to get a grip of himself.

And get some coffee. Soon.

* * *

Just a day later, live and sound, a part of his dream walked through his door, carrying a letter from _The Fates_ (Grantaire & Jehan).

His eyes roamed through the lyrics.

At that moment, when everything seemed a bit too much and a bit too overwhelming, Enjolras buried his pride and just went with the flow.

And if he happens to regret it later, he could always blame it on the Twelve Olympian Gods.

And Grantaire.

* * *

**A/N: I solemnly swear I am up to some actual plot in the next chapter  
**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: So, basically, this story was meant to be finished ages ago...but somehow my brain keeps me from doing so. Sorry if some parts are a bit confusing, feel free to ask for an explanation if needed (I should really stop writing at 4 am and start sleeping for a change). Thank you for favorites/following/reading/commenting, it means so much!** **And yeah, finally some plot here...the next one should be mostly dialogue (that's the idea, just hope my brain won't go into another weird state of writing weird fillers, even I wouldn't be able to survive another one of these -.-)**

* * *

_18. It's A Hard Life_

* * *

She didn't like this. She didn't like this at all.

But it was hard, you know, to fight it, when it would be _so easy_ to just let go, to just let it wash over her like a tide.

Oh, she hated herself so much for being this weak. Weak for _him_.

She agreed, of course she did. It seemed like the only choice at the time.

Now, though, she could think of at least dozen reasons why not to do so.

Weak.

_That is not what your father taught you to be._

No, she won't be weak anymore. Shiver like a leaf on the wind when given a bit of attention.

She was _done_.

Done with him confusing her, leaving her in a puddle of mixed emotions, suppressed hope and lingering smiles.

She was done being weak for him.

* * *

He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all.

When did he start to become so weak? When did he let his walls fall and start to act on emotions rather than brains?

_For Heaven's sake_, he basically made a twist out of his own life while not doing anything at all. It all felt so distant, like he was watching himself from somewhere above, wondering who had a control over the strings tied around his limbs, tightening and pulling and making him dance to someone else's music.

It all indicated one thing.

He was _done_.

Done with controlling, with him needing to calculate every move, over analysing every step.

He was done being a Marble.

* * *

The sun was about to set, bathing the city of Paris in a wave of warm orange light. It seemed like everything was on fire, or was it like that only for Enjolras' awakened senses? Letting go has set free not only his mind, but his body as well. The world suddenly became a new place; everything seemed brighter, sharper, so full of details that looked meaningless before, but boy, how wrong he was.

Leaning against the wall, too engrossed with _life_, he did not notice a figure approaching. Not before Eponine invaded his line of sight with unusually stern expression on her face.

Actually, she looked quite annoyed as well.

_'What were you thinking_, coming here dressed like that?!'

Oh.

Right.

It didn't even crossed his mind that this was not just a casual stroll down the avenue, in his casual bourgeois clothes _( it must have been the lack of sleep_, he convinced himself, not at all refusing the mere thought of _a certain young mademoiselle_ who lately seemed to occupy his mind).

'I'm-', he started, but Eponine (dressed in her old ratty clothes with hair hidden beneath a cap in a painfully familiar way that made his fingers tingle with want of freeing these locks- _oh what is he even thinking?!_) was already taking action, peeling the coat from his shoulders and running to store it inside of Musain, then promptly staining his perfectly white shirt and ruffling his hair a little in the end (how was even humanly possible to do all of that in such a short notice, he did not know).

And maybe he flinched a little when her hand touched his cheek, gently caressing it.

Thrown away by his own reactions and feeling utterly betrayed by his own body, Enjolras raised a hand to touch his cheek where the feeling of another hand, a much smaller one, still lingered.

Eponine's face was smug.

'Not comfortable with dirt, aren't we, monsieur?'

He dropped his gaze to glance at the hand, now smeared with dirt from his cheek. Oh.

_Well, two can play this game_, he thought (putting aside _that something_ raising from the pit of his stomach, he can deal with that later), pointedly raising the aforementioned hand and bringing it to his other cheek, slowly smearing the dirt over one sharp cheekbone, with his eyes staring straight into Eponine's.

Her cheeky grin didn't disappear, though, quite the opposite. It seemed even wider than before.

'Very good. Let's start our tour, now, shall we?'

She continued towards one of the alleys, not sparing him a second glance. Enjolras did the only thing he could - he followed along.

Soon enough he fell into step with Eponine's quick steps, looking around and trying to- well, he didn't know _what_ exactly was he trying to do, but he at least hoped to notice something _-anything-_ different, to see the line he was crossing, between bourgeois Paris and slums. But there was nothing at all. Just another empty street.

Abruptly, Eponine stopped to drop onto the dirty pavement beneath her, curling her arms around her knees as she blankly stared into space. After cringing a little at the thought of all the things that spilled over the stones during the years (the sour stench told the story far better than words), he did the same.

Eponine looked at him almost disapprovingly, like she didn't really expect him to do so. There was something alarmingly different in a way she acted around him, even more than she did after _the_ _fight_ that they had.

It seemed normal in the beggining, like it was before he knew about her secret. Sarcastic remarks were still very much present, still making him laugh, but with a hidden meaning that almost seemed to have a purpose of driving him away (and why was he thinking about irrelevant things instead of asking why -_for the love of God_- are they sitting on the cold ground of a dirty old street?).

Almost instantly after the thought entered his mind, the street came to life before his very own eyes. Street urchins filled up the street as the sun gave its last breath of rays away before disappearing completely off the horizon, a sad parade of even sadder people raising from the shadows and slumping against the wall on the floor that has seen more of their suffering than any pair of eyes. Ladies of the night in their once brightly coloured skirts and painted cheeks, red lips cooing seductively into ears of greedy old men with too high hats and stained coats; skinny children of Gavroche's age clinging to anyone who had food in hands, which was usually just a slice of an old bread or, if they were luckier, an apple stolen from the market earlier that day. Drunkards were everywhere, but not the happy, hazy kind like Grantaire. These men had a malicious spark in their eyes that reminds you of a starved animal preying its victim. It was loud and overwhelming, jittery laugh mixed with painful whimpers and loud shouts over the drunken songs and muttered curses.

Eponine just continued to calmly sat on her spot, unaffected by it all, like she was merely observing the actors of some medium-interesting play without a real plot. Enjolras has found himself staring intensely into her profile, snapping out of it only when a bottle crashed just beside his feet. He turned his attention back to the crowd, making mental notes that will later fill the pages of his notebook.

They stayed like that for another hour, then quietly got up - Enjolras following Eponine's lead- and blended with shadows, finding their way back to the respectful part of the town. Eponine was, as usual, keeping quiet, but it seemed suffocating. The air was thick with some indescribable tension and coldness, and it was all too new for Enjolras to understand, those layers of emotions that surrounded people. He was usually determined to seek only the ones he needed for his cause, like _passion_ and _rebellion_, pulling them on surface with a power of words and not paying attention to any other. It was a different story now, and it was hard to get a grip of it all. But what he knew was that this sudden coldness made him feel almost- _hurt_, in a way. Which only confused him further.

He was brought back from his thoughts at the sound of Eponine's voice. They were standing in front of her small apartment.

'The tour is not over yet. Tomorrow morning, ten o' clock.', she said while fiddling around the lock. He briefly nodded at her words, offering her a little smile which she didn't reciprocate. Another unpleasant feeling of stabbing appeared inside of Enjolras.

Just when he was about to leave, she turned around to look at him over the shoulder.

'And, by the way, dress normally. I have another plan in mind for tomorrow.'

She closed the door with a flashy grin that promised no good.

Never before did he meet a person that confused him as much as Eponine did.

* * *

She closed the door and slowly slid down against it, leaving a breath she didn't know she was holding.

She could still feel the silk of his skin against her fingertips.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: So, I managed to surprise myself by, not only writing the longest chapter till now (and the longest thing I've ever written ****in English****...actually, never wrote something this long even in my _own_ language), but also by a realization that this is the last chapter before the conclusion of this story (have no idea how I managed to get this to the actual end, especially with the latest chapters being, well...ehm). But yeah, the end is almost here, and my feelings about it are conflicted and yeah, I'll stop talking before I get sentimental. So, here it is:  
**

* * *

_19. Crazy Little Thing Called Love_

* * *

Morning came, fiddling with golden curls sprawled across the white pillow, grazing along the bare, muscular back and ending somewhere in between the sheets. Pale light trapped in a web of dark eyelashes soon got consumed by the deep blue oceans, as Enjolras' eyes fluttered open.

Last night, he fell asleep with the picture of a grinning girl imprinted in his mind and _the feeling_ came back, making his blood boil.

He was a revolution for his country.

She was a revolution for him.

Spreading fast and furious.

* * *

'Ooooooh Enj dear, coming early, aren't we? Too eager to see her again?', Grantaire cooed, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

'You know far too well that I tend to wake up early, so don't go around making false assumptions!', Enjolras hissed, knowing he made a mistake the same second he heard Courfeyrac and Bahorel wolf-whistling from behind. Why did his usual composure continued to fail him whenever Eponine was brought up?

'Oh come on, our marble leader just discovered that he indeed owns a heart, much to our dismay, and you're making fun of him? _That's awful_!', Ferre interrupted, looking smugly enough to get Enjolras thinking about how nice it would be to wipe that grin off his face. Preferable with a heavy object. He was, after all, just a man.

And Ponine wasn't. A man, that is (_when did he start to have random thoughts like this?_).

Oh.

_Oh_.

'Grantaire, come here, _now'_, Enjolras urgently whispered, tugging the man's sleeve.

'Don't give me that _'act-like-a-grown-up'_ speech again Enj, we're just having a laugh! It's not illegal...yet. If the government continues like this, though...'

'Just come _on_, I need to speak to you in private!'

In any other occasion, Grant wouldn't spare a second thought before replying with some sassy comment, but that unusual, bewildered look in Enjolras' eyes was enough for him to put it off.

For now.

So he let Enjolras drag him inside of an empty room, staying silent even after the door was firmly closed. He knew that Enjolras will speak up when ready. Though, he did _not_ expect the words that followed.

'She's a woman, Grant.'

Grantaire's expression remained blank.

'Enjolras, when you refer to a person as _'she'_, it usually shows that the person is a female, yes. But, I am not going to lie to you, I assumed that you knew that much already.'

Enjolras huffed impatiently, rapidly walking back and forth with hands in his hair.

'I cannot help you if you're not being precise, y'know.'

Enjolras stopped, face buried in hands with some kind of desperation that striked Grantaire deeply. At that moment, a distant female voice called, 'M'sieur? Where are you?', and all the colour left the face of a said man.

And Grantaire understood.

'Are you', he started slowly, 'are you trying to tell me that you've only just realized that Eponine is-'

_'No_, no, of course not! But I- I wasn't fully aware of what that changes between her and us!'

Oh.

_Oh_.

Now, he understood completely.

But how was he to explain Enjolras his own feelings?

'Enjolras, the thing is', Grantaire's voice was silent, careful, 'it didn't change anything between _us_. But obviously it changed something between _you_. Tell me, what made you realize it? That Eponine is not just _Eponine_, but a woman?'

Silence.

'M'sieur?', the voice was closer now.

'I-', Enjolras whispered.

The sound of a door opening startled them both.

'So _here_ y' are! Afraid of what I planned for today, aren't you, _o' mighty leader of men_?', said a subject of their conversation in a mocking voice. To Enjolras' defence, he recovered rather quickly from his conflicted state of mind, replying with a dry 'indeed', and, with no more words, he left Grantaire cursing into empty air.

'So, _so_ close to admitting!'

* * *

'Being engrossed in a conversation to the extent of being late to a meeting isn't like you, Enjolras.'

He looked at her strangely, and Eponine mentally kicked herself. She made a promise to herself that she will _not_ call him by his name again!

'It's nice', he replied.

'Nice to be late?'

He shook his head, the same strange look still in his eyes.

'Hearing you say my name without titles again.'

Despite herself, she blushed.

Despite himself, he blushed, too.

'Don't get used to it, though, m'sieur', she muttered, hating her heart for skipping a beat, hating Enjolras (she didn't) for being so carefree with words. In Eponine's world, words were dangerous.

Words hurt.

They were walking towards the Champs-Élysées in uncomfortable silence, when Eponine suddenly tripped and grabbed a side of Enjolras' coat for support. His hands immediately found her waist in an attempt of steadying her, but it still coloured his cheeks just so slightly. At least that was the case before his vision was clouded by his own wallet.

'First rule of the streets: _always_ have an eye on your pockets', Eponine chimed.

_Slightly coloured_ instantly changed to_ scarlet red_ as Enjolras uncomfortably coughed, trying to regain his composure.

'Duly noted.'

* * *

The market was full of people, chattering and bargaing in a loud voice. It seemed like a perfect place for completing Enjolras' "assignment". Only, Eponine thought differently, choosing an inconspicuous café and sitting on the terrace. Enjolras followed her, successfully hiding his confusion.

A waiter appeared.

_'Bon jour_ madame, monsieur, your orders?'

'Just a tea, please', Eponine answered, pointedly looking at Enjolras.

'Same, _merci__'_

The waiter nodded and left. Eponine shifted closer over the small table.

'The second rule: be aware of your surroundings all the time. Now tell me, what do you see?'

Enjolras glanced around. ' Not many people. A couple, on the left. Two elder ladies on the right. A man reading a newspaper.'

Eponine watched him with an amused expression.

'My, I expected more from you, m'sieur. Let me.

Firstly, this café must be a family business, it being located inside of a two-floor building. The family lives on the second floor, I presume. The waiter, being the only one, is probably a son of the owner. The café itself is not so busy, but it has regulars, like those two ladies and a man with the newspapers. A couple is here for the first-second time, probably because they tried to find an inconspicuous place where they won't be recognized. Based on their nervous glances thrown over the shoulder, I assume their parents do not approve of the relationship. Probably woman's, noting her expensive gown and diamond earrings. A man is a worker, gardener I would say. His fingernails have grass and dirt underneath.

The older ladies are just here to gossip, nothing interesting about them. The man with the newspapers, though, is here to get away from his wife. There is a white trace on his ring finger indicating that he's married, but the ring is missing, probably stuffed in his pocket, maybe because he wants to hide anything that disturbs his peace, reminding him of home.'

Enjolras gaped at her.

'That is pure assuming! There is no way you can know all of that just by looking at them!'

Eponine smiled. The waiter appeared with their orders and started to leave, when she spoke to him.

'Please give my regards to your father, I'm glad to see that he's leaving the café in capable hands!', Eponine chirped, wide smile plastered on her face.

The young waiter blushed, thanking her and promising he will let his father know of her kind words.

'That was luck.', Enjolras exclaimed, crossing his arms with a determined expression.

_Well, if he wants more proof, he'll get it._ _This_ is what she's made for.

Tea forgotten, she placed some money on the table, ignoring Enjolras attempts of paying, and brushed by the newspapers man.

_'Look_! Isn't this the king's carriage?!'

All of the guests (including Enjolras, to his later shame), snapped their heads in the direction of Eponine's pointed finger. No one noticed her petite hand slipping in the pocket of the newspapers man.

_'Where is he_?!', everyone shouted, hungrily looking around.

'Oh I apologise, I must've replaced the carriage. My eyesight is not very good. But-', she lowered herself to pick something from the floor. 'Monsieur, is this yours?', she asked, flipping a golden ring in between her fingers. Enjolras' eyes widened almost comically.

'It, um, yes, it is.', the man snatched it back, muttering _'merci'_ and placing the ring back in a pocket.

Eponine raised her brows towards Enjolras.

'Still not proving that his marriage is dysfunctional!'

'My, you're stubborn. Well then-', she proceeded towards the table where the young couple sat, bending over to whisper something in girl's ear and leaving afterwards. Enjolras quickly followed her, realising he's not the only one after hearing a soft _'please_ madame, don't say a word about this to my parents, he will lose his job and I will lose him!'. Eponine assured the girl that their secret is safe with her, and Enjolras couldn't do anything but admit his defeat.

'Careful observing will give you a detailed insight in people's lives, which leads you to a better understanding of classes and their differences. For example, those old ladies were clearly uncomfortable by the presence of a gardener. They kept frowning at his dilapidated clothes and dirty hands while whispering.'

She placed her hand inside the crook of his while speaking. The next second, her hand was firmly held in the air around the wrist. Enjolras smiled, taking his wallet, and placing it inside of his pocket again.

Eponine smiled.

'You are a fast learner, _Enjolras_.'

* * *

They spent the rest of the day wandering around Paris, from slums to rich neighbourhoods, just observing. And not only did Enjolras get the informations needed for his essay, but he also memorized most of the shortcuts that Eponine used while delivering letters. The night was slowly approaching and Eponine already turned to leave to her respective home, when a gentle hand stopped her.

'You shown me your magic, would you like to see mine?'

Eponine flushed.

_Your magic_.

It was the first time anyone referred to her _oh-so-hated_ job as something worth of praise.

They walked in silence until they reached the riverside.

'Have you ever wondered what it would be like, to hold stars in your hands?', he asked, looking at the starry sky.

Eponine didn't answer. She knew that look, it was the one her sister Azelma had when reliving some distant memory.

'When I was a boy, my father used to bring me here to watch the stars. We would just lie there, in the grass, and he would hum the melody of my mother's favourite song. I asked him that same question once.'

Enjolras stopped talking and bent over the running water, capturing some in his hands.

'Gather your hands', he whispered, like the sound of his voice would break the spell memories created. He poured the water in her hands, then embraced them with his own.

'Look down, Eponine.'

She did.

The water calmed and reflected the sky above. Thousands and thousands of stars shined in between her hands, _their_ hands, and it was like every cliché in the world - utterly, amazingly _perfect_, knocking the breath out of her lungs with ground-shattering power of an earthquake and delicacy of butterfly's wings.

'Eponine', he breathed.

The shock of hearing her name - in this voice thick with emotions she didn't dream he possessed - travelled down to her hands, unlinking them from his. The water spilled like silver, drowning the stars, and Eponine ran, ran as fast as she could, from the emotions in his voice that she didn't dare to believe in, from a man who held her beating heart in a palm of his hand.

Not knowing that, with just one wrong word, it would shatter beyond repair.

And if a man that stood there had his heart left bleeding on the ground beneath him, only the stars could know.

* * *

The morning sun filled the café with a warm light.

'Enjolras?'

The man did not answer, seemingly engrossed in a book.

_'Enjolras_!', Grantaire repeated, a little louder. The said man lifted his eyes, and _oh_ - the marbled walls were back, a storm clouding the ocean.

_Why?_

'Enjolras, I-'

'I am sorry, Grantaire, but I'm in the middle of something, and would be immensely grateful if you'd speak up your mind already.'

Silence.

_'Tell me._', Grantaire pleaded, not really sure what he wanted to know, but asking anyway. Anything to make the walls fall down again.

'There is nothing to tell.'

'If so, you certainly wouldn't answer like _that, _you'd ask me what am I talking about.'

Enjolras laughed bitterly. 'I am getting old, aren't I? My mind is not as quick as it used to be.'

'Your mind is as quick as always, Enj', Grantaire argued, 'It's your heart that doesn't keep track.'

Unconsciously, Enjolras' right hand left his side and rested on his chest, fingers curling as though as they want to rip the flesh apart.

'I-', he choked back, 'I didn't...know. You hear about it, you read about it, but it doesn't prepare you to the force of it. It's..._indescribable_ to any other feeling and I- it's suffocating, I can't- I can't breathe and...'

_Broken_.

A dark smile graced his feature. 'Look at me, on top of everything, I'm also getting incoherent. It's quite simple, really. I believe you already noticed something - _strange_ in my behaviour lately, and I also believe that you guessed correctly the reason behind it.', he said in a strangely calm voice.

'But it's over now, the feeling - it's not reciprocated, and it's alright, Marius is a lucky man, and he'd be obtuse not to...'

'Oh _you blind idiot_!'

Enjolras stopped, shocked with that sudden outburst.

_'Do you even know what you're saying? I promised__**, I promised**__ not to tell_, but _God_, you're just _too dense, I can't watch it any longer or I'll go mad, you stupid, _stupid_ man and that silly, thick-headed girl I just...argh! _She took a bullet for you_, for Heaven's sake_, she took it with _your_ name on her lips and you're here talking about _ridiculous_ things and_..._'

_'What_?'

Grantaire stopped his wild muttering to cast a menacing glance at now completely confused Enjolras.

'She is not in love with Marius, Enjolras. I was there, that time, I saw everything. She is not in love with _him_.'

The unspoken words echoed inside the room.

_She is not in love with him. She is in love with __**you**__._

* * *

If you had, by some chance, passed by café Musain that morning, you would have only seen one man with a half-empty bottle of wine on the table, and the still-swinging door.


End file.
